Two Hearted
by Many A Mistake
Summary: Murkoff's victims pile up day by day in staggering numbers. The public sees all these broken people and what else is there to do with them but send them all off somewhere to get help? Forgive him for saying so, but Jeremy Blaire has had more than enough of 'hospitals'. Sequel to: Delusion Tax.
1. The Murkoff Account

**Chapter 1: The Murkoff Incident**

_**A****uthor's Note:**  
Welcome to this bad decision. Two years after I put DT down and here I am...on my shit again._

_So some house keeping. _  
_It's been a long time and my thoughts and feelings towards these characters and their relationships have changed a fair bit. _

_The tone of this story will be different to DT and I'm more open to the more indulgent side of things this time around. So if you're frustrated with how Sinclair and Blaire dealt with things in DT, it's about to get better and worse._

_I'd like to take a hot second to thank the people that left comments or reached out to me personally just for a chat or to share fan art. That is the only reason I felt able to start writing this sequel. Let me know if you want to shout out your fan art here as well!_

_I'll be writing this between other projects, so please be gentle with my update schedule._

_With that, enjoy.  
_

* * *

The Murkoff Incident. Those words had become a term that could no longer be defined as one singular event.

Soon, there were subheadings added to each event placed under the umbrella term.

The Mount Massive Asylum Incident, Parasol Pharmaceutical, The Temple Gate Incident, Tower of A.I.'s Melt Down, The Guardianship Program, St. Neander Hospital-

The list just went on and on. A rabbit hole deep enough you couldn't climb back out of once tripping inside. If it even had a bottom to it, you'd only break your legs when you hit.

It seemed like Murkoff had their hands in everything. From psychological torture, weapons development, mind control and biological warfare. No unsavoury stone left unturned in their grabs for monetary gain.

With every incident name that cropped up, Murkoff's remains were dismantled further. Every time it seemed to be over there was a new name, a new scheme, some new nightmare that no single person had the imagination to make upon their own.

There was just too many moving parts to keep track of and now that things had come to a grinding halt - there was time to pick through the remains. So that was exactly what they did.

And with every new atrocity that got added to the list, eyes inevitably turned back towards those that had escaped the sinking ship.

But even Murkoff's favourite former fixer couldn't know everything that had been happening inside of the beast.

"Little Lights?" Jeremy Blaire's voice was tight.

His tone was filled with a quiet kind of anger that caused the other two seated at the breakfast table with him that morning to tense. One settled rather quickly with a weary sigh while the second remained stiff out of habit. Preparing for a barrage he knew to be coming from that tone alone.

"What," Blaire began, fingers white as he clutched a shiny new tablet tightly before him, "the _fuck_ is that?"

Blaire stressed the curse viciously, finding it was the only way to stop form from shouting it. Knowing if he was too loud the children in the house would catch wind of his 'potty mouth' in record time. Not wanting to get beaten to within an inch of life by their madwoman of a mother - Blaire kept his curses quiet.

Waylon Park, the still tense party at the breakfast table with Jeremy that morning, ventured nervously, "You didn't know about it?"

Despite his questioning tone, there was little doubt that he had believed from the get go that Blaire was truly oblivious to what he was reading now. Regardless, the confirmation must have settled his mind somewhat.

After all, in this case, Ignorance was innocence.

"What? You're surprised I didn't know that Murkoff was in the business of child snatching as well? Yeah, no shit, Park!" Blaire bit back sharply, dumping the tablet down in front of him on the table.

Wincing when the rather delicate bit of technology made a resounding thud. He should be more careful with his things. He couldn't so easily replace things nowadays and even when he'd been in a position to piss money away - he didn't like to break his own things.

But anger often got the better of him and nothing made him angrier than Murkoff's legacy now days. The stench of the company's decay clung to him unrelentingly no matter how many times he tried to scrub it clean of his flesh.

Sitting back in his seat, Blaire pinched the bridge of his nose as he processed the new information. He was used to Murkoff's lingering nightmares, but not quite so used to be taken off guard by them. It was an extra layer of insult to know that even _he_ didn't know every little dirty secret Murkoff had.

"Drink your coffee." Lisa Park spoke up, voice steady as she kept her focus on the breakfast she was preparing at the kitchen counter.

Their two boys would be up for school soon - begrudgingly at that. Breakfast was something of a peace offering to keep their complaints to a minimum. A valiant effort, but more often than not, one taken in vain.

Irritably, Blaire tossed the woman a look. But with her back to both he and Waylon, Blaire gave up and took a sip of the scalding drink. Cringing, Blaire was at least able to down the drink they stocked now days. He'd worn them down with his protesting over the previous brands they'd bought. It was a marked improvement but Blaire still planned to go out and buy coffee himself later.

With the cup in his hand, Blaire was momentarily forced to be silent and keep his building gripes to himself for a time. Allowing Waylon to get a word in between bites of his own breakfast.

"Can't say I'm surprised." Waylon muttered, expression twisted and grim. A look he only brought out when Murkoff was the topic. "But still, all those poor kids. Just feels like...I don't know. Like there are limits to these things?"

Helplessly Waylon looking to Blaire like that was any place to look for confirmation that some crimes were above even Murkoff.

He got little more than a derisive snort and Blaire didn't even put his coffee cup down.

Sighing Waylon's shoulders slumped and he miserably fiddled with his cutlery for a while. The news of Murkoff's newest crime had hit them all hard that morning. "At least they're all safe now." Waylon suggested though it was a hollow sentiment.

"I heard they're setting up a place for them. A rehabilitation hospital." Lisa chimed in, not willing to get too deep into the discussion but ready to supply some kind of consolation. To perhaps end the conversation - though she wasn't holding her breath either.

"A hospital?" Blaire repeated, tone glacial. Accusations dancing on his tongue, though he tried to bite them back down.

Not every hospital or charity had men like him at its helm. It was difficult to remember that at times.

Blaire was more likely to kick a beggar than to hand them a nickel only a few years back. Now he'd probably sill kick them out of a misplaced reflexive defence mechanism.

The real difference was that he might apologise after the fact now. But only if he was being watched.

"Yes," Lisa replied sternly, "a hospital. Finish reading before you decide to go off." she advised with a tone that promised some kind of repercussions if Blaire started spouting off this early in the morning.

Her patience was split between both he and Waylon, as well as the boys on school days and to say that patience was drawn thin was an understatement. Blaire's self preservation kept him silent.

Reluctantly Blaire tipped the tablet back up on the table with one hand and held his cup in the other. Letting the newest report light up on his screen again.

Little Lights - an appropriately cheery name for Murkoff's newest string of bullshit.

While the name itself had not registered as any known plan in Blaire's memory, he recognised the project a bit by the description of it. Murkoff had dressed up torture and inhuman experimentation as charitable insane asylums, so it was not a stretch to learn that they'd pulled a similar trick elsewhere. Orphanages were not that far of a stretch.

What Murkoff had been planning to do with the children was never quite clear in the few times the topic had come up between he and other executives.

It likely had not been implemented until late in the game and by then Blaire had already been stationed at Mount Massive Asylum. All his efforts and focus placed there rather than the other branches of the company.

Still, knowing Murkoff, Blaire could comfortably assume the end result was intended to be control. Control had always been a thread in their games. It just seemed like it was also the one thing they never got right. The monster made at the asylum and the disaster of Temple Gate proved as much.

Murkoff's monsters always turned on them in the end.

Flicking back through the illuminated text, Blaire's mind gradually narrowed its focus, all but forgetting the cup in his hand as he looked over the reports. New information mixed among things he already knew.

The report in his hands had not yet been brought to the public. A perk of being in their position meant new Murkoff information came to them first. Sometimes just a formality, other times the reports were seeking some input of clarity from the few remaining survivors. Then there were often questions.

Questions_ just for him_ included.

Blaire smirked faintly as he read over the typed lines of the email that just _barely_ hid a tone of accusation.

Fair enough, Blaire was hardly the most forthcoming type but he'd have thought that after handing over information about Murkoff so freely for so long, that he'd be treated with just a little bit less contempt from their in between guy.

Taking note of Blaire's smug amusement, Lisa chimed in.

"Is Simon still being short with you?" she asked, her voice holding a note of mockery that got a soft, amused snort from Blaire.

"I'd be insulted if he weren't." Blaire confirmed and then sighed, feeling a wave of fatigue roll over him unpleasantly.

His exhaustion did not go unnoticed and he could feel Lisa's eyes on him again. Sizing him up in the way only Lisa Park could. She knew damn well that he still wasn't sleeping at night. Blaire, not wanting to get into it for the hundredth time and still bitter that he was dealing with sleepless nights to begin with when it wasn't his job, spoke up again in order to derail from that possible conversation path.

"If Mr. Peacock wants to pick my brain a little longer, fine by me. If he wants to dance on Murkoffs grave just a bit more then I'll help him out. But he had better start paying for my time."

The soft laughter Lisa offered him was a truce in a sense. The topic dropped. Leaving Blaire with his thoughts and an email to type up to Simon today, Lisa went about bundling up Jackie and Noel's lunches.

Taking note of her efforts, Blaire could not help but point out the obvious. "You're not going to get the time to shovel that breakfast down their throats." he mused, not looking up from his typing because if he caught Lisa scowling at him, he'd surely lose his nerve.

"Then they can starve." Lisa replied flatly, even as she transferred the would be breakfast into Noel's lunch box which she latched shut and slipped it into his backpack. Blaire huffed quietly and let the conversation fizzle out into a comfortable silence.

For a time there was only the sound of Lisa stuffing the boys bags and doing some basic clean up in the kitchen. After a few minutes she was taking both the boys bags in hand and walking for the front door. Pausing briefly by Blaire's chair, hand resting on the back. She may as well have been placing it on his shoulder for how familiar and friendly it felt.

"Keep out of trouble." she instructed but there was no edge to the words.

"Always do." he replied reflexively and they both shared a little scoff at that.

Blaire offered Lisa a lazy little wave as she went, calling to Waylon as she reached the hallway, just within earshot of Blaire.

"Waylon," she called, "can you get the boys up? I'll meet them out at the car. If I start rolling it now maybe when they jump in we'll be on time."

_Unlikely. _

Left to his own devices for a while, Blaire read over the report a few more times. Consciously deciding to drag it out. Let the words sink in properly so he would be less likely to forget key details.

Simon had once called the Asylum Incident a pebble in a pond. At the time those words hadn't been as accurate as they stood to be now.

Mount Massive had fallen and the ripple effect had every single one of Murkoff's other hidden crimes falling one by one after it. No matter how many new incidents were added to the list - Mount Massive Asylum remained at the head of it all.

Simon discredited it in the past. Believing that the truth would have come out one way or another. Mount Massive was just the one that broke first. But Blaire thought he knew better. Without those riots and that fire - Murkoff would probably still be functioning and pumping out profit without any issues. And he'd probably still be on that payroll.

However, the Asylum Incident _had_ happened and here they were now. With only the faintest threads of the company remained and Blaire taking a great deal of delight in cutting any that they found still loosely dangling around.

He was not alone in this hobby, although admittedly, the man he shared it with was less vindictive and more obsessive.

Which was precisely why Blaire wasn't surprised to feel his phone vibrating like mad in his pocket a few minutes after his third read through of the report.

_Right on schedule. _Blaire thought dryly as he tapped the answer incoming call prompt on the tablet. Letting it remain on voice only. He didn't need a visual to further confirm his suspicions that the man on the other side of the screen was a wreck.

"Ah, Mr. Upshur." he greeted before the caller got the chance to begin going off. "Bit early in the day for you, isn't it?" Blaire asked, voice little more than a sneer as he answered the call. Rolling his eyes as he took another drink, noting the coffee was cooling too rapidly.

"Did you see?" Upshur's strained voice came across the call. Blaire noted disinterestedly that he did indeed sound a touch manic. Like he had been up all night staring at his red spider web wall again.

Miles began to speak again but Blaire cut him off. "I can't work with you when you're like this, Upshur."

Part of his dismissive tone was put in place simple because he knew how it got under the reporter's skin. That tone of disinterest over something Murkoff related had been known to send Miles off the deep end from time to time. Hence why Blaire used it over the safety of the phone.

"_Blaire_. Did you read it?" Miles grit out his name like it was a curse and Blaire found himself idly smiling in satisfaction.

"Yeah. I got it right here."

"And?" Miles asked, voice returning to that hasty tone. "What do you think about it?"

"I think it's been taken care of."

Blaire addressed Miles in a similar tone to the one Lisa had taken with him earlier. Cautionary, stern. More or less just telling Miles to stand down. The battle was long over, Miles was just chomping at the bit to fight with ghosts.

"Those brats are going to get carted off to a hospital for repair and that'll be the last of it."

Up above his head, Blaire could hear two pairs of tiny feet rushing downstairs. Noel and Jackie finally out of bed and being rounded up by Waylon. He adjusted his vocabulary accordingly.

"No!"

Miles's voice broke back through the call and Blaire turned the volume down just a little. Last thing he needed was for the kids to pick up on Miles's mannerisms before his own. In this case, and perhaps no other, he was genuinely the lesser of two evils when put up against Miles's mouth.

"No, you can't just- This...this is important! There could be more here, Blaire. There could- we could-"

_Right_. Blaire thought. _Enough of that._

"Upshur. It has been taken care of." he repeated more slowly. Each word bitten out lowly. To try and truly hammer it through the maniac's thick skull. Not wanting to get sucked back into the madness himself. "Stop bothering me over every little thing."

But Miles was unrelenting. Already Blaire could feel the early formings of a headache as the freelance reporter nagged at him.

"Last time you said the same shit too." Miles accused furiously. "Back with-...fuck. That test facility. You know the one- Shit, what was it called-?"

On the other end of the phone, Blaire could hear Miles rifling through papers. He probably had them strewn all about, he painted a rather cliche picture. Blaire wondered if Miles saw the world in monochromatic noir film tones.

As Miles went looking for whatever evidence he wanted to throw at him, as though any of it would change his mind, Blaire noticed that Lisa had moved on to the waiting stage of the morning routine. Calling for Jackie and Noel from the foot of the stairs.

From down the hall, Blaire could hear as the boys came bounding down the stairs. Stumbling to get their shoes on at the same time as their backpacks and no doubt about to be late again regardless. Lisa did try her best, but the boys always seemed to find new and creative ways to cause them to be late.

"Bye, uncle Jeremy!" Jackie shouted back through the house and Blaire offered him a dismissive wave.

It was unlikely the boy was even looking his way. He had gotten used to that 'uncle' title, though he liked to think if the boys ever mistakenly thought he was related by blood, that he'd be from Lisa's side of the family.

With the boys out the front door and Miles finding whatever paper he'd been looking for, Blaire was free to be a bit more honest in what he had to say.

"Listen. Miles." Blaire spoke slowly, feeling as though they'd have this conversation ten times over before the man would relent. "Whatever is left of Murkoff is the problem of the international government and conspiracy theorists. Now. I understand that you may be the latter, but I am fucking _not_."

Knowing this would not be enough to get the little bastard off his back, Blaire went on to rather casually, too casually, mention one other key piece to all this. "Does the mountain man know you're calling me right now?"

Ah. Silence. Now didn't that sound just lovely on Miles?

"That's what I thought. It's been nice talking, Mr. Upshur, but some of us have lives to live outside of our doomsday bunkers."

And with that Blaire ended the call. Only frustrated that he couldn't throw a phone down onto a handle or flick it shut with a snap like phones long passed. Oh well. Seeing Miles's icon blip off his screen was almost as satisfying. Fortunately, being able to mute him was a considerable pick-me-up.

The blissful quiet lasted all of ten seconds before the phone he'd just hung up binged again. Miles again but mercifully only a text message.

'_Come talk 2 me about it. Just 1 more time, that'll be it.  
I swear.  
Come on you ducking prick.  
__fucking*  
__I'll buy you a whisky?'_

_\- Miles_

Terrible typing habits aside, he'd hand it to the reporter, he knew how to bargain. It wasn't much of an offering, but Blaire wasn't allowed to do much drinking under this roof and he didn't fancy his chances trying to sneak much part Lisa. Still, a couple of free drinks wasn't worth what Miles wanted to waste his time talking about.

The hobby he and Miles shared was an unhealthy one, but Blaire couldn't deny that it was one that still had its hooks in him. Despite knowing he ought to stick to harsh words and tell Miles he was done with all this running around once and for all, it was difficult to ignore the newest of Murkoff's ghosts.

The further away from Murkoff he could be, both in mind and body, the better it was for them all. But his gaze was lingering on the report again.

_Little Lights. _

With an irritated sigh, Blaire began to write up a short and sweet response to Miles.

'_One whisky.'  
__\- Blaire_

And with that he turned the phone off entirely. Not wanting to talk about the where and when with Miles just yet. He didn't have the strength that early in the morning. He hadn't had enough sleep to wake up in anything other than a foul mood and Blaire was acutely aware that even at his best, he was not much of a sunny morning person. Or a sunny person in general.

Which was precisely why he was currently drinking out of a mug with the word **'NO'** printed in big bold letters across its surface.

This mug was one of the friendliest of the many he'd accumulated. It had become something of a hobby for the boys to find new novelty mugs that they could gift to Blaire at any given opportunity. A pass time that it seemed Lisa had also picked up from them at some point, leading to the few cruder ones in his collection. He had a sinking feeling that were he under the house's roof when christmas rolled around, he'd be getting boxes of different novelty mugs. The corner of the cupboard that had been dedicated to these mugs was getting pretty tight as it was.

Between, '_This is probably whiskey_', _'If I am full, you are silent'_ and numerous others, the one Blaire was currently drinking from was the simplest and, to be frank, Blaire's it was an accurate representation of how he felt a good eighty percent of the time.

Not because it was the first one he'd been given by an excited Jackie some three months earlier.

Definitely not because of that.

However, the cup was getting dangerously low and while Blaire didn't feel sufficiently fuelled up, this at least meant he'd be able to go out and buy the coffee this time around. Giving him free reign to choose whichever brand he found to be the least offensive. Had he not been so conscious of how much money could be wasted on buying coffee from cafes, he'd never have fully made the transition to store bought stuff. Amazing what financial incentive could convince him to do.

Granted, that did mean he still had to struggle with the coffee machine day in and out. He knew how to work it just fine, but for _some unfathomable reason_ it never seemed to want to cooperate with him. It jammed, it leaked, it burned and it sputtered every time Blaire tried to use it even if it had just worked perfectly for Lisa before him. He was going to replace the fucking thing any day now.

The front door opened back up, Waylon returning from the nightmare that was getting the boys in the car for school. Blaire glanced up as he stumbled back into the kitchen, looking exhausted from that endeavour and sitting in a huff. Downing the rest of his coffee quickly. Likely about to go for a second soon.

Oh, _sure_, Waylon drank coffee day in and out, and yet, Blaire was the one lacking sleep. That seemed fair.

All but inhaling the hot drink, Waylon let out a hefty sigh before complaining breathlessly, "Those boys are going to be the death of me."

"They'll have to get in line." Blaire replied flatly. "Currently I got the number one ticket."

"Because that has worked out so well for you in the past."

The quip was a welcome relief if Blaire were to be honest. Waylon didn't have the strongest backbone, but he managed to joke and remark about the past more easily nowadays.

They'd gained so much distance from the asylum that at times that actually successfully managed to get through a day without thinking about it.

Which was why it felt so wrong to let Miles drag him back into Murkoff witch hunts so consistently. Waylon must have known that was exactly what had happened, because he was looking at Blaire in that quizzical, nervous way of his.

"You were talking to Miles?" Waylon asked. He must have heard Blaire on the phone. "How is he?"

"Manic, as usual."

Sighing Blaire set down his favoured mug and looked tiredly at Waylon. "If those boys don't put us in the ground first, then Upshur is going to do it."

"You don't have to let him get to you like that. You could just ignore it." Waylon reminded with a soft frown.

"Don't give me that, Park. If Lisa wouldn't have your head on a platter, you'd probably be right out there with Upshur on that shitty farm right now."

Revenge was one hell of a motivator, and more importantly, an obsession breeder. Blaire tried to keep it at arm's length nowadays, but Miles seemed ready to dive back into it head first at the mere mention of Murkoff. Admittedly, Miles had been made a ghost by them in a more literal sense than any of them were comfortable with.

Still, he didn't fancy going to Miles's little rundown farm. The place reeked of the outdoors and hard labour, neither of which Blaire was massively fond of. Even worse, if he stepped foot on that property he was likely to get met with the wrong end of a shotgun. Miles's keeper was not his greatest fan and messing with Riley's temper for fun wasn't worth it the bullet he might eat.

Waylon continued to give him that woefully concerned look at Blaire groaned in disgust. "Look, if it'll wipe that kicked puppy look off your face, I'll try to put some sense into that lunatic's head when I see him. I don't fancy chasing Murkoff's ghost over every hill. I think it's just…" Blaire paused, gaze flicking over the report one more time. "...probably has to do with the child factor in this one. Miles didn't get as worked up over 'The Anet Initiative' incident last time."

Children in abusive hands did tend to strike a chord with people. The Anet Initiative had spiraled more into a cult like situation akin to what happened at Temple Gate on a lesser scale. Left to fly wildly out of control with Murkoff's iron grip on the situation vanishing seemingly overnight.

Fortunately, the body count left behind that one was minimal and while the deaths had been rather...extravagant in nature, it did not hold a candle to what variants did to one another. All in all, it had paled in comparison to something like the Mount Massive Incident. But it was still fifty more names to add to Murkoff's long list of bodies.

There'd been talk of opening up a cemetery purely for the victims discovered through Murkoff. In part because so many of them could not be identified and had no family to claim them. Murkoff had always been good at weeding out the more vulnerable people.

A cemetery to match the hospital that had apparently been opened up for them.

Lisa told him to finish the report before going off but it was hard to do so when right towards the end Simon had commented, rather offhandedly, that a rehabilitation facility one city over had opened up its doors to Murkoff victims.

The hospital had been undergoing renovations for months and only just completed the work, supplying it with hundreds of rooms available to be filled. They'd wasted no time sending out offers to other facilities and hospitals that had been burdened with the influx of patients with every new Murkoff grave unearthed. Many of them were insane before Murkoff got their claws in them and those that hadn't been came out on the other side just as broken. Their symptoms and behaviour were not naturally made psychosis in many cases and it was no secret that former Murkoff patients and victims were extremely difficult to handle.

Having a hospital open its doors with offers of a facility dedicated to these people? It must have been a great source of relief to the medical community at large. Murkoff left few survivors in every incident - but there were just so many that the numbers added up. They'd hand over the victims readily to this new hospital and those vacant rooms would fill quickly.

Blaire didn't fucking trust it for a moment.

Especially when the email from Simon had, in no uncertain terms, stated that both he and Waylon had a free ticket in should they feel like they needed it. Blaire was convinced that Simon included that purely to get under his skin.

"What do you think about this whole hospital business?" he asked Waylon eventually. "You read this nonsense before me, so what do you think?"

There was no real hesitation from Waylon. "I think that I will feel better here with Lisa and the boys than with doctors. Besides, I'm not really their focus."

"They'd still take you." Blaire pointed out and Waylon winced.

"Yeah, I don't want to be in an asylum again. Even if they aren't calling it that."

Blaire could empathise with that. He would have tossed his own 'invitation' into a fire if it weren't attached to his tablet. He really wished Simon had mailed it in a letter. Maybe he would print the email out just to burn it. For therapeutic reasons. Who needed a shrink when he could just burn things?

"Maybe they'll take Upshur off our hands." Blaire mused with a grim smirk. He wouldn't mind terribly if Miles got committed.

"Not funny, Blaire." Waylon shot back sharply.

"It's hysterical." he replied matter of factly. Scanning over their little invite once more.

Waylon also made a good point. While they had a free ticket to the care this facility was advertising, they weren't their focus clearly. Their focus would be on the truly damaged lot Murkoff left behind. Those that were still trying to eat their own faces or other's. Blaire had absolutely no desire to surround himself with variants of any kind again. Even if they were getting real help this time around.

None of them needed that sort of care anymore. Maybe they might book a therapist somewhere down the line to talk to once a month or some shit. But certainly not a live in hospital stay.

"Well." Blaire announced standing up and leaving the report behind on the table. "It's not our problem anymore. Might as well forget all about it."

And to truly hammer home how ready Blaire was to move on entirely, he decided to make a show of civility. "You want that second coffee, Park?"

"You're only going to poison it." Waylon mumbled, even while handing the mug over to Blaire who leered back at him.

"The last one didn't work, maybe this one will do it."

Time to fight the coffee machine again. Blaire took both mugs back to the blasted thing. Normally he'd wait a little longer before having another coffee, but that morning he felt more than deserving of a second cup early. The caffeine would push his mind away from the talk with Miles to come and if that failed, he'd just pour what little whiskey he had stashed away into the drink while Lisa was out.

Then he would see about printing out that email.


	2. Fixer Upper

The red spiderweb was left alone later that day.

Notes and photos stashed deep under the reporter's bed and away from concerned eyes. Not to be recovered until later that night when the rest of the world would be sleeping and Miles just could not. Then he could pour over it all over again, burn the written words into his mind until the paper could be burned away instead and he'd read it just as clearly as he did when holding the notes in hand. There'd be hours spent connecting dots, making plans and writing up new accusations.

Little Lights had been added to a long, and still growing, list. However, that was for the night.

The day was for brighter things.

During the day Miles was called by name and for a time could forget the creature that had burrowed itself under his skin. Lurking beneath, but never truly sleeping. If the Walrider could not rest, then neither could he.

But when their name was called, both man and monster were able to focus on what was right in front of them.

Namely an extraordinary frustrated one-armed man.

"Miles, are you listening?" Riley asked for what was likely the tenth time. Judging by the scowl on the man's face, he already knew the answer to that question.

"Sorta." Miles finally answered, a sheepish but wholly unrepentant smile on his face.

He ought to have been some kind of sorry. For himself if nothing else. He'd taken quite the blow to the head when he went tumbling off that roof. A tumble that led to this newest lecturing of many.

"Repeat it back to me now, Miles." he prompted, making a 'come on then' gesture with the only hand he had left.

"The roof is not a playground." Miles replied dryly, only just resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

In retaliation to Miles's lack of remorse, Riley cuffed him on the other side of the head, getting a yelp from Miles. It was purely because he had the Walrider lingering at his spine that Riley felt so comfortable giving him that swat. After being shot however many times and walking away relatively unscathed, a little knock wasn't going to so much as bruise.

Which was exactly why Miles hadn't thought twice before he'd clambered up onto the roof that day. Determined to improve their reception.

"_You_ were up there just yesterday!" Miles protested the injustice while rubbing the side of his skull. All but sulking.

"Yes, and_ I_ was being _careful_." Riley stressed the word to make sure it really sunk in before continuing, "I was also tiling, not dancing around with my cell phone stuck to the sky."

In all honesty, Miles understood what Riley was saying but at the same time he couldn't help but think the concern was misplaced. If Riley took a fall off the roof and hit at the wrong angle he might end up breaking something important and, unlike Miles, he wouldn't bounce back from a broken bone within a day.

If anything, shouldn't he be the one telling Riley not to mess around on the roof?

"The roof doesn't need any more tiles." He muttered after a moment. "It doesn't leak anymore." Miles clocked the stare Riley was giving him and relented some. "...well not as much." he amended. They could put some pots and pans down if the leak was really so bad.

"Christ you are impossible." Riley cursed under his breath. "What was so important you had to climb up there anyway?"

There was a flicker of something close to guilt when Miles opened his mouth to lie to Riley. But that small moment of unease with continuing to deceive his roommate was overshadowed by the determination that still burned through him. Riley was happy to let sleeping dogs lie, but Miles couldn't let go just yet. Not while Murkoff was still fucking up lives long after its death..

"Had to make a call." he answered, not yet diving into the lie. That came only seconds after. "I mean, yeah, _obviously_ I was making a call. I was calling to see if those idiots in town had figured out the reception problem."

In his defense, he was also going to do that while up there. But Riley had spotted him as soon as the call with Blaire had ended. And in his haste to hide the notes he'd taken up there with him, his balance had slipped and he'd gone tumbling off the roof. Resulting in Riley carrying him back inside under his arm like an unruly brat and plopping him down for this discussion.

So really, that fall was almost karmatic in nature.

That fleeting sense of guilt making a small return when Riley took his explanation as face value. Not questioning him any further in that overly trusting way of his. Exasperated, sure, but willing to take Miles's word at face value.

"Next time can you just _ask_ me? I'll go into town and talk to them in person."

Riley always had been a bit allergic to technology and preferred the old method of dealing with problems. Talking in person, fixing things with hammers and nails, doing everything that he could manually. He'd talk in person when a call would suffice. Call when a text would be better. Always taking the longest road around the simplest problems. But he did tend to get things done.

"Sure." Miles agreed eventually. Stuffing down any kind of lingering hesitations he had about lying to Riley. What he didn't know, couldn't hurt either of them.

For a moment Riley just looked him over. Sizing Miles up with a frown. Were it anyone else he might have thought Riley was on to him. But in all honesty, Riley could be thick as a sack of bricks at times and Miles was a fairly accomplished liar in his own right. It felt almost like he was taking advantage of an overgrown child.

Finally, Riley let out a little sigh and the tension in his shoulders ebbed away. "Alright, now that's sorted...you're going to be helping me with the fencing tomorrow." Miles's jaw dropped open and the smile Riley tossed him was downright smug as he added. "_Without_ Walrider's help."

He took it back. Riley could suck an egg.

Laughing in that low, good natured way of his, Riley gestured for Miles to follow, but didn't actually call for Miles at all. Swapping who he was addressing.

"Walrider, would you mind lending me a hand making dinner?" he asked and the answer, as it always had been, was yes.

Wordlessly the Walrider answered, coming on Riley's beconning.

With a practiced ease, Walrider came creeping out of Miles's skin. The shadowy mass slowly detaching itself from the skin of its human host's back. Lifting itself free of the fleshy confines and dragging itself off Miles's spine. Once free the Walrider crept on over to Riley, coiling at his feet, as the world's most dangerous house cat.

"He listens to you more than me." Miles complained. "Hey! You're rooming with me, Wally! Show a bit more respect. At least pay some fucking rent."

With his complaints being ignored by both his babysitter and pet monster, Miles was left to sulk as Walrider followed at Riley's feet back into the kitchen. Leaving him to huff and whine, though the act lessened once the pair were out of sight. Months prior Riley would not have let Walrider inhabit the same space as him without Miles right there with him. Now the beast was free to wander the house and trail after Riley to its non-existent heart's content. A far more eager helper than Miles made.

With Riley's watchful gaze directed somewhere else, Miles sat forward and reached for his phone. Turning it back on, Miles opened up the downloaded report he'd been sent. That download had been about all he could get before the internet gave out on him.

His gaze ended up landing on the part he'd more or less completely glossed over in favour of focusing on Little Lights. This hospital that was opening its doors to them, Sirona Lake Valley Medical Centre, or Sirona Hospital for simplicity's sake.

There was no way in hell Miles was going to be booking himself a room or session there any time soon. But he'd be damned if he wasn't going to go and check the place out. Call him paranoid but anything opening up and ever so generously offering to specifically take on Murkoff's victims just so happened to set off raging alarm bells in his head.

Glancing up from his phone towards the kitchen, Miles wondered how he would talk about this with Riley. He knew that Riley had to have read the email. Miles refused to believe that Riley didn't read them, despite never talking about any of Simon's messages. There was no way it didn't eat at him inside leaving them unopened. Not knowing couldn't be something he was okay with. Miles couldn't even imagine.

However, if he risked bringing it up to Riley, the man might become suspicious of him again. They'd already had this fight to the bitter end when they first moved into the farmhouse. Riley made his stance on Murkoff hunting inescapably clear.

And Miles didn't want to see that disappointment in Riley's eyes again. So he continued to lie.

Despite that, the topic of the hospital seemed like one he ought to touch on with Riley. Just to make sure he wasn't getting any ideas in his head about going there. At least not until Miles could search the place from top to bottom to make sure it was legit and not another evil scientist set up.

What reason would Riley have for going to a place like that anyway? Sure, the nightmares were persistent and okay, maybe there were times that they might become a touch hysterical but...but they were doing _fine._

Riley was getting physical therapy and adjusting to life with just one arm, he didn't need some fancy new facility to help with that. The farmhouse wasn't even finished being renovated - Riley couldn't leave that behind, right?

Yeah. There was no way. Riley wouldn't leave.

"What's for dinner?" he called, just to make sure Riley was still there.

Without being in the kitchen himself, Miles still had a sense of what was going on. Walrider's eyes might not be his own but there was a certain sense he got for the things Walrider did and saw. So it was only a few seconds later that Miles groaned in dismay.

"Pasta again?" He called to Riley.

"Come make dinner yourself or shut up." came Riley's easy reply. Tacking on a quick condition to that offer. "Toast and coffee doesn't count."

Miles didn't see what the problem with that was. But fine. Better to have Riley's cooking than make something himself. Riley was scary efficient in the kitchen, even more impressive given he had to do it all with one less hand.

Settling back down, Miles flicked through his phone. Noting the single, tiny, lonesome little bar of service he had. That was the best he was going to get and it'd likely black out before he could open a single search engine tab. So rather than fight with that frustration again, he went back into his notes. He wasn't as determined as Riley to keep physical things, but he did prefer his real paper notes. Unfortunately those didn't come with a passcode that Riley didn't ask for. He really had to move all those written notes onto his phone at some point.

While Miles distracted himself with new theories and suspicions, Riley kept himself busy in the kitchen. Part of him did feel a bit bad for making pasta again, even though he was eighty percent sure Miles was being a pest just for the hell of it, but he wanted to make something he knew his brother would like.

Having him visit was always a great relief for Riley and he wanted to give Sebastian every reason to come back as often as possible.

This whole independence and separation thing was still a bit uncomfortable for him, but he understood why Sebastian had insisted on it. They'd been together their whole lives and it had led to more problems than either had realised until after the asylum incident. So living apart now was for the best.

Even if Riley loathed it.

Fortunately, between the leaky roof, busted fence and mirrade of other problems in need of fixing alongside Miles being a general menace, he was more than busy enough to distract himself.

Currently he distracted himself with cooking, ever conscious of Walrider moving around the kitchen behind him. Collecting things that he had previously shown it to gather when making this particular dish. It was easier to be around Walrider now. Especially when it seemed to pause at the end of every task and look to him for a form of approval or validation that always came in the form of a quick pat to the head. Then it would scamper away to complete another task in search of yet another highly coveted head pat.

Hard to be scared of the beast when it acted so needy.

It was only the Walrider in his nightmares that continued to scare him now. Not the creature that was handing him salt shakers and tomatoes.

"What do you think, Wally?" Riley asked as he tipped the cutting board up and let Walrider carefully scoop the cut up vegetables into the pan, acting as the second hand he needed.

If Riley held the knife then Walrider was making sure the item on the cutting board wouldn't roll away, if he was using something with a lid that needed opening, Walrider would take it from him and open it for him.

Truthfully, Riley thought the creature was a bit over attentive and at times he had to shoo Walrider away from tasks he could complete himself. Walrider often coiled and made vibrations that Miles explained to be complaints. But Riley needed to assure himself that while the help was nice, it was not strictly necessary. He needed to know that he was still fully capable of taking care of himself without another set of hands there every second of the day.

He did not expect Walrider to fully comprehend this and so never chided it harshly for being a tad overbearing.

However, with the farmhouse slowing reaching a point it could be considered a passable dwelling, with only minor fixes required, Riley knew he'd have to go looking for other ways to occupy his time soon enough. It was something he kept thinking of as 'later on' but was rapidly becoming 'soon' and he was no closer to figuring out what that other thing would be.

Maybe he'd talk to Miles about it later. They both needed to find new hobbies after all. Seeing as Miles couldn't do what he used to. Just as well, he'd nearly gotten himself killed by doing all that.

Riley had just turned the temperature on the stove down to a low simmer when there was a knock at the door and he heard Miles calling that he'd get it, followed soon after that horrible squeak the front door made when opened up. He'd fix that next. Then the familiar voice of his brother just audible over Miles's usual loud greeting.

Quickly Riley ran his hand under the tap water, squeezing the tea towel in his fist to try and dry his fingers before Walrider could attempt to do that for him too, and head out to meet with the pair.

Miles had already let their guest in and Sebastian was in the middle of shrugging off his jacket. The winter chill hadn't quite left the air just yet and it seemed spring was taking its dear sweet time arriving. Soon they could go without jackets, but for now they'd only just gotten rid of mittens and scarves.

"Hey, Seb." he greeted, a relieved smile crossing his face as he laid eyes on his brother. His smile being returned by the younger man. He knew it was a bit ridiculous to feel like an empty nester and to be so relieved each time he saw Sebastian safe and sound but...well that's just how it was.

Sebastian's form of greeting was a quick hug. "Good to see you, Riles." Then as an afterthought Sebastian looked to Miles and added. "You too."

Miles put a great deal into rolling his eyes. "Gee. _Thanks_."

Chuckling softly, Sebastian offered Miles a sorry sort of smile though it was clear he was just teasing him. After a second Sebastian must have smelt what Riley was cooking and positively lit up. "Is that...?" he began to ask and Riley confirmed before he finished.

"Yeah. Still haven't perfected it the way ma did but…"

"The way you make carbonara is just perfect." Sebastian assured him, and his eagerness was the exact response Riley had been hoping for when deciding Miles could stand to eat pasta for a third time that week.

While they talked, Walrider had slowly come creeping over, seeming to have decided it preferred slinking around on solid surfaces rather than float when moving. Its way of greeting Sebastian was to get far too close to his face. Lifted off the ground enough to be all but looming over Seb.

The blond only laughed, still finding it easier to handle Walrider than Riley did at times. "Good to see you too, Wally. Ah...but please, some space?"

Personal space was a human concept that Walrider did not put much value in, but still retreated when asked. Even if somewhat reluctantly.

With Sebastian there, Riley was able to relax finally. The food was being kept warm and simmering, Miles was finally done doing ridiculous things for the day and his brother was here. There was nothing left to be stressed about.

And yet he hadn't been able to rest easy since that morning. Not since reading his emails. He didn't want to think about that tonight and prayed the topic would be left well enough alone.

Mercifully, the first thing that Sebastian asked about when coming inside was how the renovations were coming along. A conversation Riley was more than ready to have and throw Miles into the deep end of. Tossing all kinds of blame onto him for the set backs they'd had, all fully justified jabs but also shared just to bully Miles some for the stunt he pulled earlier.

Miles protested and offered up counterpoints to Riley's claims. Complaining about their reception and that never ending draft. Something he has been told time and time again, could be fixed if he'd just stop being so cagey about letting Riley do work on his room.

Overall, the conversation was light, easy.

And yet when Riley looked to his brother there was still something off about him. There had been something off for months.

His smile was idle, very nearly a constant on his face, but never fully reaching his eyes. Riley caught himself watching Sebastian a number of times once they'd all sat down to chat in the living room. There was a softened, tired look about his brother that set him on edge.

Riley felt at a loss for how to remedy the situation, or get to the bottom of it. Sebastian seemed to be keeping them at arm's length now and he worried that if he pushed then his brother would withdraw further.

Thus, he was left at a middle ground. Trying to balance his concern for Sebastian and his fear of pushing too hard for answers. Then again, maybe the answer was simple. Riley wasn't some book wiz like his brother, didn't have a pretty certificate and all that, but he was pretty sure he knew depression in his own flesh and blood when he saw it.

His staring was apparently not subtle enough because eventually Sebastian caught his brother's eye before Riley could look away. Mismatched eyes landing on his own and pausing there for a moment before Seb offered another warm smile. Something caught between apology and sympathy. Like he knew damn well what was happening in Riley's head. Sebastian had always been a bit scary like that, even as a kid.

"Everything alright?" he asked quietly, reaching out to place a hand on Riley's knee. Riley managed a weak smile of his own. Unable to put it on as easily as Seb did.

"Yeah. Just getting a bit stir crazy I guess." Riley replied, rubbing the back of his neck with a hefty sigh. It wasn't a lie, he was piss poor at that. He really was getting a bit frustrated here.

This seemed to be a good thing to hear, Sebastian perked up in an instant. "I was wondering when you'd say that." he announced like it had been inevitable and he was just waiting for Riley to come out and say it. He wasn't sure if that was just Seb being creepy again or if he was the one that was transparent.

"And," Seb went on eagerly. "I think I have just the thing."

"Oh boy." Miles chimed in, a wicked grin on his face as he saw Riley's expression turn to a grimace. "Whatcha got, Sin?"

"Why does my brother, who is younger mind you, get to appropriate _our_ last name into a nickname?" Riley asked dryly as Sebastian riffled around in his bad for whatever this 'thing' was.

Miles offered up little more than a shrug, attention on what Sebastian had brought. "Not my fault that 'sin' don't really suit you there, big guy." And yet it seemed every other nickname and term of endearment on earth did judging by how often Miles called him by anything _other _than his name.

One firm exclusion to that extensive list existed. But they'd never once slipped up with that particular term.

After a moment more of searching, Sebastian let out a little 'ah-ha' of victory and produced a pamphlet. Riley was skeptical, skin already crawling in discomfort at the possibilities. He half expected to be handed a brochure for an old folks home. But no, that was more a joke Miles would pull.

Instead what he was given was a scouts pamphlet.

Blinking uncomprehendingly, Riley took the folded up booklet without a word. Mind stalling for a second as he tried to figure out why Seb gave him this. It wasn't until he saw what seemed to be a circle drawn around a small section that claimed 'help wanted' in red sharpie. Seb's handiwork. That set the gears in his head moving again.

"Volunteering?" Riley asked slowly, frowning as he opened up the brochure. More than a little hesitant about the idea.

"Well!" Seb began and there was a particular bounce to his voice that Riley heard so rarely nowadays. He almost agreed to the idea on the spot just to keep that bubbly excitement alive in his brother. "I remember you used to talk about scouts all the time when we were kids. You kept that old uniform for...god, I don't even know how long."

Before Riley even had the opportunity to tell Seb to maybe not share that crucial information, Miles had snapped it up. Bursting out into a fit of laughter and that Riley wishing he could curl in on himself.

"Just show him my baby photos while you're at it why don't you…" he groused as Miles choked on his own amusement.

Wheezing out some attempts at a sentence that sounded like they were going to be along the lines of 'you were a boy scout? Oh my god this makes so much sense!' But every second word broke and eventually Miles was resigned to silent, shaky laughter. Hugging himself through that little bout of laughter.

Despite what he'd just done, Sebastian didn't seem the least bit sorry. Wearing a smile typical of an annoying little brother. God damn it.

Trying to ignore the laughing idiot sat at his side, Riley took a moment to look over the leaflet properly. It advertised all the things you'd typically expect of a scout's group. Everything from fire making and camping to kayaking and archery.

All extremely extraneous activities and all the things Riley had loved doing. Things he probably couldn't do with his new way of living.

It was hard not to feel the heavy lack of a limb at his side. Remembering in quick succession how each of the activities outlined before him had felt in both hands. He remembered in great detail the strain of pulling back the bow's string, the careful strength it took to find hand holds when rock climbing, even something as simple as pitching the tent or pulling out a tarp.

And he remembered it all with two hands.

"Riley?" Sebastian's voice was quieter now. Seeking.

It took him a moment to answer. Needing to take in a steadying breath before speaking, "Yeah I...yeah I'm okay."

At his side Miles had stopped laughing. Apparently he'd caught on to the mood and it had killed his amusement. That's fine, he'd be back to the teasing once the time was right, Riley was sure.

For a few more seconds he looked over the brochure. There was a deep, gnawing longing in him when he looked at the list of activities that were on offer and needed people to help with.

"I'll think about it." he told Seb gently but he doubted he would really consider it.

Then, in an attempt to ease the uncomfortable quiet that had settled around them, Riley groaned and sat back on the lounge. "Did you really have to bring up the old uniform?"

It was better to have Miles make fun of him than face their concerned stares. The feeling of inadequacy was bearable most days, but those sympathetic eyes always ripped the wound aknew. He didn't want to focus on it.

Maybe this was how Sebastian felt when Riley pushed to know what was wrong. If that were the case, he completely understood why Seb withdrew from the conversation in those moments. It was an unpleasant sensation.

Miles caught onto the opening in a heartbeat, wolfish grin spreading across his face. "Oh-ho, no way. This isn't going away anytime soon. If there's physical evidence I demand to see it. I have a right."

"Oh, do you?" Sebastian inquired.

"Yes." Miles asserted firmly. "A god given right to have every available means of bullying."

With how adament Miles was in his teasing at times, he might have actually believed that. Riley's rebuttal was easy.

"I am poisoning your pasta."

…

…

The carbonara was not, in fact, poisoned.

That or Miles had developed a strong tolerance to the substance because he was wolfing it down at a concerning speed once dinner was called and the plate was set in front of him.

Sebastian observed this behaviour with a detached sense of mild disgust. He was never going to get used to seeing how Miles devoured all placed in front of him. It was a miracle that Riley still had his cutlery and it hadn't ended up in Miles gut yet. As if influenced by Miles's poor table manners, Sebastian ate his own food even slower than usual. Hoping to any god that might listen that he didn't look anything like the reporter when he was eating.

How Miles managed to keep on talking through eating was also a genuine mystery to Sebastian. He knew that he liked to talk an awful lot, but Miles had him beat hands down. He just never stopped it seemed. The aimless chatter helped to ward off any awkward pauses, if anything Miles made social interactions far easier. Well, if he wasn't actively making them painful that was.

It was made all the stranger when at times Miles would shoo away Walrider from his plate. Yanking it out of the creature's reach like an incensed older brother keeping something away from a younger, far more annoying, sibling.

Walrider couldn't actually eat so it had no need to go poking around their plates but when it came over to Sebastian's plate, he allowed the creature to get a better look. Offering out a slab of pasta on his fork to Walrider to close its mouth around. It could mash up the pasta like anyone else, but it could not swallow or otherwise consume the food. Maybe it was just parroting them for fun. Sebastain couldn't for the life of him say what it thought it would achieve by doing this. Besides annoy Miles that was.

Visiting his brother and Miles was always a bit of an event and Sebastian knew he ought to do it more often.

Maybe twice a week if he could. He'd considered bringing it up to Riley to get his approval, even though he knew his brother would have had him here permanently if he could.

At least, he had been considering it before this morning. Things had changed since then and Sebastian wasn't quite sure how to feel about it just yet.

He did his best not to bring it up too soon into his visit. He knew that the topic would not be one that Riley would want to dwell on and he suspected Miles would jump on it the moment he so much as _hinted _at something Murkoff related.

For now he kept it to himself, enjoying dinner and talking with the pair, only occasionally offering up some food to Walrider, only for that particular mouthful to end up on a napkin by the side of his plate. Technically he could eat the food once Wally was done playing pretend, seeing as it had no saliva or bacteria in its mouth, but it just didn't feel right. Sebastian shuddered at the thought of eating something that someone else had bitten into, even if that someone wasn't a person at all.

The night was going fairly smoothly, excluding Riley's reaction to the offered pamphlet.

In all honesty, Sebastian had expected a reaction like that. But had decided to pursue the idea all the same. He knew that scouts made his brother happy as a kid and he also knew being helpful made Riley happy to this day. So he felt obligated to at least put the idea in his head.

"Are you still having coffee with, Waylon?" Riley asked later into the night and Sebastian was a little surprised that he had to ask.

"Of course. A little less often but...yes. We still get together from time to time."

Far less often than they had before. Sebastian tried not to feel guilty for that. He told himself it was just because their times didn't match up anymore. But that was a blatant lie. Maybe it was because Waylon's roommate situation was a bit...well. Uncomfortable.

Sebastian was quick to move the focus of the conversation. "Although, last time I was there Mary was asking after you two. I think she misses her favourite flirting partner, Miles."

And, without a shred of humility, Miles proudly announced, "As she should. I am the best there is."

"Oh lord have mercy." Riley muttered to himself and Sebastian laughed. Just pleased the conversation had been moved into a comfortable direction.

Mary's little coffee shop had remained a good meet up place for them. The Parks had moved further away but Waylon was more than ready to make the drive back over in order to meet up at the cafe. It felt familiar. Safe. They'd no doubt have driven days upon days just to meet there if they had to. Safe havens were few and far between, they'd take what was available to them.

In truth, Sebastian had withdrawn from a majority of those havens. The farmhouse, Waylon's home, the coffee shop, they were the three he may still had set foot in from time to time. But his absence for long periods of time must have been becoming more obvious to them and Sebastian didn't had it in him to address that coming conversation head on just yet.

By the time their plates were cleared, the conversation had lulled. The trio made lethargic and sated after a full meal. It was a fuzzy, easy sort of feeling and their conversation followed that mellowed atmosphere for a time. Even Miles's more manic movements had been softened for a time.

But, as this calm continued, Sebastian's mind began to wander when he wasn't the one speaking. They hadn't said anything about it just yet, but he remained certain that the same topic must have been circling in all their minds. It was just one he wasn't sure how to approach.

Being the first to say _'Murkoff'_ at the dinner table seemed poor etiquette.

Worse still, bringing up their strongest tie to the long dead company might just cause their host to have an aneurysm. Riley barely tolerated the thought of Jeremy Blaire on a good day, and with the emails that had been sent out it was decidedly not a good day.

The phone sat in his pocket felt like it was burning a hole through the fabric, searing the words it contained into his flesh. Just another burn to add to the many he already bore.

Deep in thought, Sebastian's fingers ran along his arm, tracing along the indentations that followed the shape of Walrider's claws. The beast that had coiled itself around Miles's shoulders like the world's largest, most volatile, cat seemed to be watching him. Without eyes, it was still easy to know when it's gaze was on you. Sebastian felt it laying over his skin, a small electrical current that he could never be sure was real or imagined.

Perhaps the creature watched him run fingers over those long healed wounds and pondered on human behaviour as it so often seemed to. Not understanding what Sebastian might think or feel when looking at the scars it left on his body. One of its lesser crimes, but a mark of its all the same.

Walrider wasn't the one Sebastian thought of when looking at these scars. It was the sensation of claws sinking into flesh and blood dripping to the dirty alley floor that he thought of when brushing the pads of his fingers over the dips in his forearm. Rather he thought back to why he'd sustained such an injury in the first place.

And with that thought his chest grew colder.

"Seb?"

Riley's voice eased Sebastian from his own thoughts, an instinctual smile sliding into place as he acknowledged Riley. Pretending he did not see the slight unease etched into his brother's face.

"Sorry." he said as earnestly as he could muster. "Got lost in thought for a moment there. It's been a long day."

Riley was quick to jump on that excuse. "Stay the night." he encouraged with an eagerness that had Sebastian's smile warming a little more naturally.

"And is the guest room still without a floor?"

Judging by how Riley's expression fell, sheepish guilt rolling off him in waves, it still didn't have a functional floor.

His poor brother really had chosen a difficult place to fix up. When they'd arrived at the farmhouse it had been on its last legs, but Riley persisted and refused to pick somewhere easier to live. Any closer to civilisation he wouldn't feel comfortable with and out here Walrider was free to wander around with little fear of being seen.

Riley had even told them in his plans he wished to expand the house. Add more rooms, places for people to sleep. No one had asked exactly who would be filling those guest rooms. It just seemed like something Riley needed to have on hand to be comfortable and as he was the one running this renovation project, no one spoke up in protest.

However, despite his enthusiasm the house was large and in desperate need of repairs and Riley couldn't be expected to complete all on his own after only a few months.

Even with the generous allowance he was given for the chore of babysitting Walrider and Miles.

It seemed that their overseers found Miles to be the more difficult one when compared to the monster, and were more than willing to throw money at Riley if he would keep an eye on the pesky reporter in their place. Regardless, Riley did take some genuine pleasure in his work. Both in watching Miles and fixing the house. Both offering him equal amounts of satisfaction and headache.

Fortunately, it was a slow process, and that provided Sebastian with an easy excuse to refuse Riley's offers of staying the night. He could have made do with the lounge but Riley wouldn't ask him to do that and Seb wasn't about to offer. Perhaps another time, when his head wasn't full of Murkoff again.

After a moment of quiet, Riley looked back at him, gaze searching. "Are you sure?" he asked, but it seemed more like a plea for him to stay. Concern just radiating off him. It was enough to cause Sebastian to compromise before the guilt could really get its claws in him.

"I have to go home tonight, but I'd like to come back this weekend. If that's alright?"

He really didn't need to ask, Riley lit up at the question nodding with a smile spreading across his face. "Yeah. O' course! You're welcome any time."

Contented in the knowledge that Sebastian's next visit would be sooner rather than later, Riley stopped trying to tempt him into waiting out the bitter night there.

After a bit more casual chatter between them, Sebastian was able to excuse himself for the night.

He asked to help clean up, but Riley firmly refused and said he'd deal with the clean up later. Heading the kitchen just to leave their plates to soak while Sebastian and Miles walked down the hallway to the front door, chatting as Seb pulled on his coat again.

It was only after Miles made some offhand comment about not having enough to talk about if Sebastian came back so soon, he'd have to start making up stories just to fill the time, that Sebastian finally felt able to broach the topic that had been on his mind all night.

"Actually, there was one more thing…" Sebastian began slowly, not wanting to touch the topic but knowing if he didn't speak now it would eat at him till he spoke to someone else. "You heard from Simon, didn't you?"

Miles's expression twisted, caught between dismay and the urge to explode that Miles seemed to struggle with every day. It wasn't exactly excitement, but the way Miles seemed to twitch and look around was scarily close to it. "Yeah. Yeah. Fuck, I got the email. Little Lights, right?"

"Yes." Sebastian was more put together than Miles. Able to speak calmly, voice level while Miles seemed moments away from breaking into a manic episode and ranting till the roof came down.

"But, Miles. I was more referring to the medical centre they've opened up."

Some of Miles's potential to explode faded when that was the direction Sebastian had gone. Frown inching onto his face. "Sirona? What about it?"

"I imagine you've already made plans to see the place."

Miles looked shocked, maybe a little offended as well. Sebastian wondered if he was aware of how transparent he was when it came to his more obsessive tendencies. "I also can't see my brother being a massive fan of the excursion. However…" Sebastian hesitated, weighing up his words for a moment before sighing and letting them out. "...I would like to come with you when you do."

There were a thousand questions and comments burning behind Miles's stare as he looked at the blond now. Sebastian did not have the energy or never to deal with even one. "Just to have a look around." He told Miles sternly. "I won't go on my own and I know you will go no matter what."

"What about Riley?" Miles asked, looking a bit uncomfortable. They both knew Riley liked to pretend Murkoff never existed.

"I'll talk to him about it. He doesn't need to come if he doesn't want to." But there was no doubt in Sebastian's mind that Riley would come. If both he and Miles went then he would be far too stressed out by worrying about them if he didn't come along.

It was an unofficially planned trip now. Miles didn't need the date spelled out for him.

"Next weekend, huh?" he asked flatly and Sebastian offered up an almost regretful smile.

"That gives us a few days to think."

Miles had nothing to think about, Riley would need to fret over if he came or not, but really those few days must have been for Sebastian to think. Miles didn't ask him what exactly it was that he was thinking over.

Sebstian could hear Riley approaching them and used that as an easy out before more could be said. Buttoning up his coat and assuring Riley once more that he'd get home just fine before being let free of the house.

Honestly, he could have spoken to Riley right then about their plans to go to the hospital, but the news was still too fresh and he thought it best to give his brother some time to process it before suggesting they go to any hospital. Let alone one that had even the faintest connection to Murkoff.

The thought caused Sebastian's skin to crawl, the shiver that raced through his body had nothing to do with the bite to the early spring.

But he need only remind himself that it wasn't Murkoff's hospital. It was a medical centre opened in spite of Murkoff. To mend what the company had broken. Sebastian could empathise with that ambition, and so he gave Sirona the benefit of the doubt.

He wanted it to be real.


	3. Problem The First

Settling in back 'home' after being at the farmhouse was typically fairly unpleasant.

Leaky roofs, splintered floorboards, creaking doors and broken pipes were all characteristics of the farmhouse that Sebastian's apartment did not share. And yet, despite that, the farmhouse was a warmer place. Perhaps that was because the farmhouse was lived in and the Sinclair found himself in apartment felt like a place where you came to wither away and fade out of existence.

Six months ago they'd all moved locations. Riley and Miles to the farmhouse, the Parks and company to a new suburban experience and Sebastian here.

He'd gotten offers to join the other groups, of course. But had politely refused, even when met with more backlash than expected.

Instead, he chose this box of a room.

There was nothing outwardly offensive to the apartment. Its few surfaces were clean. The uniform furniture passable, if just a touch outdated. All in all, it was perfectly mundane and inviting. It also had not been changed since Sebastian moved in. The small rectangular space was kept spotless and if he were to move out that day and someone else moved in to take his place, they wouldn't have to so much as empty the bins or change the bedsheets. There was nothing personalised about the space.

That may have been a shortcoming on Sebastian's part. He recognised it even as he unlocked the door and stepped back into the apartment that could have belonged to anyone.

He was not helping his own situation by keeping the place in a state of constant readiness. As if at any moment it would need to be prepared for a new owner. He hadn't been planning on going anywhere, so there was no real reason to keep everything as plastic wrapped and untouched as he had.

A picture frame here or there wouldn't have killed him, but whenever Sinclair thought about setting one out, he found himself unable to do so. How would he even pick what to put on display? He would be the only person that saw it, what would he want to see every day? A photo frame would need to be cleaned constantly as well. It was more hassle than he was able to muster up the energy to commit to and so the shelves were left bare. The only addition to them being the occasional book he picked up when around the secondhand store located between himself and the closest supermarket. Most of them never ended up getting read and he'd donate them after a few days to repeat the cycle.

That trip to the secondhand store being one he made very rarely. Only once he was truly down to the last scraps of food he could get away with passing off as a meal. He couldn't have told you how many times he'd had a handful of crackers for dinner or a cup of tea for lunch.

Even then, he often flirted with simply not eating so he wouldn't have to go outside. Often sleeping served as a suitable substitute for eating until his body began to turn on him. Eating at his stomach lining just for some kind of sustenance. That was about the only way to convince him to venture outside besides the few occasions he would go to meet his brother or Waylon. Sinclair usually ate before those meetings and slept a full night, just to be sure he didn't look too much like a corpse when he went to see them. The last thing he wanted was to be questioned about his health.

It was with some dull resignation that Sinclair acknowledged that just _maybe_ he wasn't doing too great.

But he was hardly in a position to complain about a light case of depression. Not when he knew he could be far, _far_ worse. Better to be a bit blue in this box room than out and about, causing problems of a more violent kind.

Even now, as he sat on the edge of his pristine bed, staring down at his hands, he remembered too vividly the last time he'd nearly put someone in the ground.

Clenching and unclenching his fingers, Sinclair replayed the moment in his mind. Recalled how his fingers felt around the man's throat before he was jerked away by too many hands. How his retaliation had been to use his boot instead. Slamming it down onto the man's skull twice before he had been pulled further back, needing to settle for trying to cave in the man's ribs instead. He was sure he'd felt two snap under the sole of his boot.

All the while those restraining hands had done their best to drag him away. Familiar voices shouting at him.

_Don't! We need him!_

_Control yourself, kid!_

_Jesus, Sin, calm down!_

At the time he felt insulted by the insinuation he _wasn't_ in control.

It felt perfectly reasonable to react in the way he had, with a literal smoking gun laying a small distance away from his intended victim. He felt more than justified in his response to go for the man's life in that moment.

In hindsight, he hadn't had much control at all.

Control hadn't been high on his list of skills for an unsettling long amount of time now.

That particular lapse in control had been one he could get away with. Forgiven for the violent outburst on the grounds that he was stopping a gunman, even if he might have gone a little overboard and nearly killed him in the process even once disarmed. He hadn't felt much remorse at the time. Only a deep seething frustration that he _hadn't_ finished the task.

Now, however, he felt a little sick thinking back on it all.

Closing his eyes, Sinclair took a deep breath, forcing his fingers to unclench once again. Reminding himself that he had to keep breathing in moments like those, sometimes he forgot and wouldn't realise until his lungs were screaming in protest again. How many times had he reminded his patients that breathing in deep was a spectacularly good way to calm themselves?

But that had been in another life. One that he was far divorced from.

So, yes, he may not have been taking care of himself in the same way he instructed others to, he may have been perfectly aware of his spiralling mental health, but he refused to do much in order to fix that. As far as Sebastian was concerned, it was better to be here and be miserable in this little, lifeless box of a room rather than run the risk of falling back into an entirely different type of mental break down. One that included putting others at risk.

He hadn't hurt someone for a long time, but knowing how _easy_ it was didn't comfort him. If he was capable of killing and torturing back then, he was no doubt still capable of it now. If he lost control then, he could just as well do the same in the present. So, Sebastian just isolated himself and waited out the days.

Knowing for a fact that if he were to do something worse than just waiting, he'd be hurting those few that cared about him. He could pass for functional just fine when he saw them on those rare occasions. He could wait for death to roll in rather than urge it forward himself.

That had been the plan. To wait and wilt over time.

Until that morning he'd woken up to find another subtitle added in Murkoff's book of bullshit.

At first it had been little more than a new crime to add to the pile, and it wasn't until Sebastian had laid eyes over that last little footnote and invitation at the bottom that he truly took notice.

The email was an invitation to him in should he want. Paired with a not so subtle urging note from Simon. Putting it as delicately as a man like himself could, only just managing not to flat out call him crazy and in need of hospitalisation. Sebastian appreciated the effort.

_Sirona Lake Valley Medical Centre._

His guts had clenched up painfully at first. A natural response to the concept of a hospital filled with Murkoff's leftovers. Memories of the asylum rushing back all at once before Sinclair had been able to push them back down with some rationality. It was an invitation he could very easily ignore and try to put the existence of such a hospital to the back of his mind.

Repression at the ready, Sebastian had never nearly done just that. But then he'd looked up, around the sterile box he existed in and his thumb had stopped over the delete button. Hovering there, begging him to just erase the invitation from existence.

He was not well.

Sinclair knew that. It was just a fact he'd come to terms with. If he belonged anywhere other than a prison cell, then it was a padded room. And if this place, this hospital, was designed for people like him, then should he not even consider it?

His survival instinct fought against it. Never wanting to be back in a place like Mount Massive. But this place wasn't going to be like that, was it? It was a real hospital most likely. Somewhere that was designed specifically to deal with people like him.

...perhaps he ought to consider it?

That persistent thought was what lead him to tell Miles that he wanted to see the hospital for himself. Not sure if seeing it with his own two eyes would help him find the answer he needed.

He'd bitten his tongue for most of his visit, not brave enough to talk to Riley right away, but now as he sat back in his little world of self made isolation, he felt like a fool for putting it off. Maybe if he'd spoken more frankly, then Riley would tell him yes or no, giving him the excuse he needed to not make up his own mind.

Now he laid himself to rest, knowing sleep wasn't going to do much to help him but hoping perhaps in the morning he'd have a better idea of what he should do.

In the end, the nightmares made the decision for him.

The nightmares had gotten worse those past few months. Seeming to redouble their efforts to ward him away from sleep as when he closed his eyes, they took him right back to the asylum. A whole year and then some had already passed, but the asylum and shack still had their claws in deep. Ripping open old wounds when he lowered his guard.

Reminding him at night that he was in isolation for a reason.

Sinclair didn't have the nightmares he expected others in his position might. He didn't dream about callous doctors and delighted serial killers. All he dreamt about was himself. Bloodied scissors in hand, a smile he didn't recognise on his face and hunting. Always hunting. Searching for lives to end in the dream made asylum walls. Sometimes he would find none, most of the time he found one.

If it wasn't the asylum then it was the shack or the alleyway.

Fingers around his old captive's throat. A hammer still in his hands, used to break more than just legs.

Standing idle in the alleyway at night and letting a different monster rip someone apart.

Simply the act of letting go and watching familiar body topple over the ledge, off the balcony and towards the ground.

He couldn't chalk the nightmares up to random horrific imagery. It all came from a place of experience with only one or two variables changed to make it more gruesome. But the base acts and cruelties were ones he'd carried out.

That night, when he'd laid down to sleep through making a decision, the nightmares dragged him back under. Bringing him to somewhere different, a new kind of hell. It pulled him back to that day in the courtroom. Back to a fight in the bathroom and then the sound of a gun ringing out.

In his memory, untainted by nightmares, he had run out after the sound and found the culprit in moments. Not hesitating to lunge at the man, taking him down to the ground and doing all in his power to crush his skull. Even though he'd ultimately been unsuccessful and dragged back, he'd at least tried to kill the gunman.

A moment of violence just like that would be in line with the brutality of his dreams. But here, like in the alleyway, he stopped. He stood and watched the gunman run and the people panicked. All the while the victim lay alone on the ground, bleeding out.

In the dream, as he looked on, Sinclair noticed the victim's gaze on him. Eyes glazing over as the life ebbed away. But in that final look, Sinclair found nothing besides resignation. A tired man set to rest.

He did absolutely nothing and the result was another death to Murkoff's list.

Before he had even opened his eyes and left the nightmare, Sinclair knew exactly what his answer was.

Bolting upright in bed, he clumsily stumbled out from under the sheets. Reaching blindly for his coat without checking what time it was. He could have been asleep for a few minutes, or hours, he didn't know but got dressed in a hurry all the same. Hastily throwing himself out of that small box of a room and for the stairwell.

Standing idly by wasn't going to be enough. If there was a chance that maybe, just maybe, he could get help and the danger he posed to others could be diminished - he would take it.

And if it turned out that Sirona was just another Mount Massive Asylum, then he was more than equipped for the madness it would take to claw, fight and drag himself free of it.

If that's what it was in the end, Sinclair had the track record and the most well suited allies in the world to dismantle it.

…

…

For Waylon, the morning routine was a bit difficult, but familiar.

Chasing the boys out of bed in time to get them to eat before school was a near impossible task and their complaints were plentiful and loudly given. But it was a mundane sort of struggle that he took relief in once the initial panicked hustle and bustle had ended.

In the mornings he ate breakfast at the dinning table while their seemingly permanent roommate drank coffee and read from his tablet across from him.

Lisa would typically try her best to get the boys their lunch before having Waylon do the last of wrangling with a little kiss on the cheek that might have been an apology for saddling him with the most difficult part of getting the boys to school. Then, once all that chaos had ended with Noel and Jackie rushing out the door on the threat that their mother would drive away without them, he'd head back inside. Exhausted before the day even had the chance to begin.

Usually, he also returned to some unsympathetic remark from Blaire to top it all off.

That morning the routine wasn't disrupted as the day before had been. No unexpected email from Simon or new, horrible news about Murkoff. A normal day that Waylon could relax into.

"How is the job at C.C.'s going?" Waylon asked Blaire, just trying to kick up some casual conversation before Blaire decided to seclude himself for the day to get work done.

"About as well as you can expect with a bunch of absolute fucking invalids on the other side." Blaire replied irritably, finger flicking his tablet screen in quick succession. Speed reading if Waylon had ever seen it.

Blaire had already been in a somewhat bad mood with this recent job. Some invoicing problem that had Blaire convinced someone was trying to embezzle. He was a bit of a specialist when it came to sniffing out money leaks. Working as a bookkeep came almost too naturally to him. Managing money was a far safer position for Blaire to hold than one managing people. Even if he might have, on occasion, been tempted to pinch some of that money. Better than him having direct control over people again. Couldn't be trusted with that again just yet, probably ever again in fact.

Now that he was determined to find out what had gone wrong in the accounting somewhere, he was both in the worst of and best of moods. On the one hand, he was constantly complaining about the incompetence of the company and team he was currently working with, but on the other - he never seemed as animated than when there was the possibility of seeing someone hang for a mistake or trying to get clever with him.

Waylon kept himself clear of Blaire's business however he could. Even just asking how the job was going was pretty risky and he withdrew as soon as he got his answer. One of these days he was convinced he'd return to find Blaire maniacally laughing while working away.

Well. Better he be distracted with work than with some of the other things or, more pointedly, other _people_, that soured his mood.

A safe course of action was to offer him more coffee and avoid the rest of the conversation entirely. Waylon noted that Blaire's 'Working Harder Than An Ugly Stripper' mug was dangerously low on caffeine. Also just a dangerous mug to have in the morning when the boys might spy it. Lisa had gotten him that one. So, Waylon decided he would offer Blaire a coffee refill in a different mug.

No sooner than Blaire had waved him off, some comment about not making shitty coffee given, did Waylon hear a series of harsh knocks at the door.

He jumped a little, still paranoid on occasion. Especially when he wasn't expecting any visitors. For a long time he'd just been waiting for men in suits with guns to arrive on their doorstep. He'd waited for a couple of months before even feeling brave enough to answer the door when someone he didn't expect was knocking. Today, however, all he did was jump before setting both his and Blaire's mug down and going to check the door.

Blaire watched him with a critical eye as he went. No doubt just as cagey about unexpected visitors as he was. Came with the territory of formerly being on one of the most influential company's shit list.

Before he had a chance to open the door, the knocks came again. Louder this time. Too aggressive. It caused Waylon to pause on opening it, hand resting on the handle for a second.

"Who is it?" he called. Just in case.

"It's me, Way…" came Sinclair's tired voice from the other side.

Waylon was genuinely startled. Sinclair wasn't the type to appear on your doorstep unannounced, it'd be too rude in his mind now doubt.

But he were there now, and asking quietly, "...can you let me in?"

Immediately he was opening up the door. Needing to see with his own two eyes that it was Sebastian. However, as the door swung in, he didn't quite recognise Seb at first. He looked haggard, out of breath, unkempt.

Wearily, Sebastian looked at Waylon. His eyes were just as tired as the rest of him and for a moment Waylon was at a loss on what to do. Instinct kicked in and he was ushering Sebastian inside.

"You okay, Seb?" Waylon asked anxiously and was not comforted when Sinclair waved off the question dismissively.

"I'm fine. I'm fine."

The insistent reply was given just a tad too sharply before the blond paused midstep. Almost like he had only then remembered exactly where he was and regretted having rushed in so hastily.

"Is it..._just_ you here today, Waylon?"

Sebastian asked slowly, sounding as though he already guessed the answer and was just waiting for the cost of his failure to think ahead sink in. Waylon abruptly felt the same unease as his guest.

God he did not want to be here when-

"Afraid not, dipshit!" Blaire's voice carried from the kitchen along with the distinct sound of chair legs scraping against tiles as it was violently pushed back.

Yeah. When that happened.

Resigned, Sinclair looked up as Blaire appeared at the end of the hallway, arms crossed and shoulders set in that definite, solid way that they so often did when he was keeping himself in check.

It was a habit that Lisa had all but beaten into him herself, a simple tactic that they taught Noel to use when he felt like he was about to have a tantrum. Couldn't break anything if your arms were crossed. Couldn't touch anything in a shop if your hands were held behind your back. Really, it just became a matter of making sure their both their hands were busy holding on to each other.

At some point that habit had been imparted onto Blaire as well as a result of living with the family.

"Jeremy…" the blond greeted tiredly, as though he could sidestep the whole conversation if he took to it with pleasantries. "I didn't know you were-"

"Here. Yes. I fucking gathered that." Blaire cut him off, positively seething. As though just looking at Sinclair currently was some great insult. Knowing Blaire, he probably truly believed that.

Eager for his own escape, Waylon very nearly tossed Sinclair at Blaire just to remove himself from the situation, but a shred of human decency kept him from doing so. That, and the fear Blaire might set fire to something if left alone with the other man kept Waylon from vacating the premises entirely. Offering only a small means of easing the tension and saving himself some awkward suffering.

"You still drink tea, Seb? I'll make you some!" Waylon _'offered'_ hastily, but didn't actually wait for an answer.

Instead he steered Sinclair away from the hallway and into the living room, avoiding where Blaire stood at the very end of the hall in the kitchen doorway, scowling at them the whole time.

Sinclair went where he was pushed but he seemed rather miserable, knowing he was stuck here. Unless, of course, he wanted to try running right back out the front door, and they all knew that turning their back like that was a vulnerability that Blaire would immediately leap upon in one way or another.

"Thank you, Waylon."

Sinclair spoke with the usual amiability but there was an underlying '_gee, thanks_' to that tone. Stopping just shy of saying '_you coward_' as Waylon ever so quickly abandoned him in Blaire's presence.

The dark cloud of a man having moved from one doorway to the other. Following after the two of them with an oppressive air that made Waylon scampering off and Sinclair, oddly quiet.

It took every ounce of strength he had to finally face Blaire and make an attempt at civility. "...you look well." Sinclair began in what he hoped was a non confrontational way.

Trust Blaire to take an olive branch and make a knife of it.

He scoffed harshly, casting Sinclair a scathing look. "Oh? Do I?" he seethed and Sinclair cringed, wishing he could snatch that peace offering out of the air and swallow it again.

"How can you tell, huh? Got a lot of samples to compare it to, do you, Sinclair?" Blaire went on, tone biting though he was at least not shouting just yet. He didn't hesitate to get to the crux of his anger. "How could you when you're never fucking here?"

"Jeremy." Sinclair implored through his tone alone. Hands stretched out in a helpless gesture. Just pleading with Blaire to please, just once _please_, have some good sense. He took those pleas and put them through the verbal shredder without so much as blinking.

"No, fuck you, Sinclair." Blaire snarled viciously and had his hands not been so firmly crossed, Sinclair did not doubt that Jeremy would have been throttling him by now.

"We had a _deal_."

The reminder caused Sinclair to avert his gaze, immediately made uncomfortable when Blaire brought up that pact they'd settled on at Jeremy's hospital bed over almost a year ago. Little promises about lies and refusing to run away along with a number of other implied promises that they hadn't spoken directly.

He _had_ promised...

Sinclair was not in the practice of breaking promises, perhaps even when he should have. However, this was a rare instance where he'd gone back on his word and it put him in the unnatural position of having Blaire high roading him. Perfectly comfortable up there on his high horse and spitting venom down at him.

Because of this, Sinclair struggled to come up with an acceptable response. Wishing with every fibre of his being that Waylon would return and put a stop to this uncomfortable standoff.

His eventual reply may as well have been gasoline thrown to an open flame. "Jeremy… neither you, nor I, was in any state to be making vows-" 

Rather than being allowed to finish the thought, Sinclair found himself being grabbed roughly by the front of his shirt. Blaire dragging him forward enough that he needed to grip the arm of the lounge not to topple off the edge. Silenced, Sinclair met Blaire's glare with a scowl of his own.

"Fuck. You." Blaire ground out the words nice and slowly, leaving them both in a moment of terse silence, as the pair glared holes into one another.

Perhaps it had been cruel of Sinclair to mention the 'state' they'd been in. No matter how accurate an assessment it was.

Blaire had been recovering from a near fatal injury at the time and Sinclair been in a state of long lasting panic and stress himself. They'd just come off the end of a long series of bad decisions, a less than pleasant court case and more than a few emotionally charged months.

They had been the definition of 'in a bad place'.

Yet, that didn't seem to justify his remarks to Blaire and if he were to be honest, Sinclair struggled to justify it to himself either. It just didn't feel right. Not many things felt right to him anymore. But his rationality told him that distance _was_ the right thing to do, even if every other inch of him writhed and screamed in protest.

That vehement internal protesting and desire to stay close had been what ultimately pushed Sinclair to go back on his own word.

It scared Sinclair knowing how unhinged his mental state could become if not kept in check day in and out. Blaire being arguably the worst trigger for that behaviour.

So, even now, as Blaire was fuming in front of him, Sinclair could not in all good conscience change his tune. Let Jeremy scorn him all he wanted - he was being the responsible one here.

"Ah-"

Waylon's nervous voice caused Sinclair's gaze to break away from Blaire's, looking towards the poor man as he stood in the doorway. Three cups precariously held between Waylon's hands as he stared at the two of them. It seemed pretty unfair that Waylon should look the most uncomfortable right now.

"I ah…got the tea?" he ventured, clearing his throat awkwardly.

None of this had Blaire standing down. It wasn't until Sinclair looked at him again with a fresh glare that Jeremy stepped back with an annoyed hiss. Petulant was a pretty common look on Blaire and, despite himself, Sinclair softened a tad when seeing it.

Maybe it was just because Blaire always did look more human when wearing such childish expressions.

"Thank you, Waylon." Sinclair spoke smoothly, returning to that civil tone as though the poor techie hadn't walked right into a standoff nearing all out conflict.

Although, 'gratitude' was undercut by the look of accusation that Sinclair hit Waylon with, "I was wondering what kept you for so long."

Waylon laughed nervously in lieu of an answer.

While Waylon squirmed under Sinclair's passive aggressive smile, Blaire was being a touch more open with his hostility - as he tended to be now days. Sitting down roughly with a little growl as he looked at the cups Waylon had brought in.

"Why did you get me tea as well? Did I fucking ask for it?" he snapped and poor Waylon flinched. Not used to combating Sinclair and Blaire's different forms of irritation at once.

"Thought it would be...ya know," Waylon offered a small shrug before mumbling defeatedly, "...calming."

Sinclair chuckled quietly at that and picked up his own mug. Ignoring the furious look Blaire shot him for daring to take any shred of amusement from Waylon's futile efforts. But how could they expect him not to laugh? Expecting tea to settle Blaire was a pretty fantasy, but he'd at least give Waylon credit for being willing to attempt it.

"Don't be unreasonable, Jeremy." the blond instructed calmly and the look of murder that Blaire fixed him with had Sinclair struggling to keep down a would be smirk. Probing at Blaire was not a healthy pastime and he knew he should refrain, but he hadn't seen the man in…

Actually. He wasn't sure how long it had been.

The thought killed the cheeky amusement before it could morph into full blown teasing. Leaving Sinclair sullen and cold again. Fortunately, that urged him towards his purpose for coming to visit today.

"I read Simon's report." he announced outright. Not bothering to beat around the bush.

Both Waylon and Blaire startled and then quickly shared a look. Sinclair wondered when they'd began to behave so close...

"I take it you have as well." he pressed, pretending that was what he took that look to mean. Refusing to wonder any further if it meant anything else. "What did you think of it?"

"I think I already had this conversation with Upshur." Blaire interjected before Waylon had the chance. Always faster to run his mouth. "Is this why you showed up? We've gotten at least ten other emails and I haven't noticed you coming out of the woodworks for a chat."

A second after speaking, Blaire seemed to recogniser his words and a threatening glare ended up being leveled Waylon's way.

"Unless, that is," he went on in a growl, "you've been visiting _Way-Way _here without us knowing?"

His tone alone promised violence if he found out he'd been left out of conversation and Waylon looked seconds away from bolting. No matter how innocent he may have been. That brand of fear seemed so cheap compared to the one Waylon once harboured towards Blaire. It was like watching someone playing pretend while knowing they were completely safe.

"Oh stop that." Sinclair chided Blaire sharply. Neither seemed to be allowing Waylon a word in edgewise. "Conspiratorial isn't a good look on you, Jeremy. Leave that to Miles."

Without giving Blaire the chance to fly into some rant or another, Sinclair continued with a soft sigh. "But, no. I haven't come by recently with the other emails from Simon. It's just that this one was...well…"

Trailing off, Sinclair stared down into his mug. Knowing he couldn't drink any of the steaming tea yet. He'd burn himself if he tried it, and given how many times he'd told Blaire off for that same hasty behaviour, he couldn't let himself be a hypocrite. He needed to wait, but that gave him nothing to do while anxiety pestered him to do anything besides just sit there.

The desire to move and relieve some of the building tension led to Sinclair quietly drumming his fingers down the side of his mug while holding it close to his chest. It was about all the fidgeting he could afford.

All the while he was acutely aware of how Blaire's gaze narrowed in on the action. A shark drawn to a drop of blood in the sea - Blaire always had been good as weeding out weaknesses to exploit.

Taking a deep breath, Sinclair closed his eyes and tried to find some sort of composure again. Still, he did not raise his gaze when speaking.

"This hospital they have set up they have at Lake Sirona…I was surprised to read their invitation to us all."

Without looking up, Sincliar was sure he could feel the air turn a touch colder at the mention of the hospital. It was a touchy subject, he didn't need to ask anything to know why that might be.

Regardless, he pressed on, "...and I have decided to take them up on that offer."

No sooner than the final syllable had left his lips, there was a terrible crash. Sinclair flinched while Waylon cried out some wordless protest, his own mercy being that when Blaire had thrown his mug to the ground, it had spilled coffee and shattered on the floorboards and not the carpet.

Looking up just enough to see Blaire's waist as the man had stood from his seat in an instant, Sinclair distantly noted that the mug that had been tossed was not Blaire's own, but the one Waylon had set in front of himself. A bit of extra effort to go to just to avoid breaking his own mug and sacrificing Waylon's in the process. That seemed rather typical of Blaire.

Those thoughts passed quietly through the blonde's mind while Blaire's louder voice began to rage.

"The fuck do you mean you're going to _'take them up on their offer'_?" he demanded harshly. "You can't be serious." and when it seemed Sinclair was by his silence, Blaire's tone shifted. It never lost the angry edge to it, but the bite was undercut by something more lost. Helpless in a sense.

"Why? Why would you go there? You don't fucking need it."

That seemed like a strange thing to say to Sinclair.

He frowned, finally meeting Blaire's furious eyes with his own level stare. "Don't need it?" Sinclair repeated. Tactfully pushing down the urge to tell Blaire to watch his language. That was another fight to have on another day. One where he wasn't on the defensive. "You know that's not true."

"Bullshit it isn't true!" Blaire shot back, shoving away Waylon's hands when the poor man tried to get him to sit again and urge him to calm. "What, you think that they'll magically fix whatever you're bitching about? You're not the nutcase they're looking for anymore. If it were up to me-"

Sinclair cut in at that point, irritation bubbling up and boiling over to a point he could not keep it in, "Well it _isn't_ up to you, Blaire. This is _my_ choice." and oh how that seemed to dig at Jeremy.

The set of his jaw was tight, teeth and fists clenched as he looked down at the blond. Sinclair wondered if he would try taking a swing.

Some part of him wanted Jeremy to try it. If only to give him the excuse.

To grab him, throw him down or drag him in - it didn't really matter and Sinclair wasn't sure which option he would take if he was given the excuse he needed to touch Blaire.

Any excuse would do.

In an instant Sebastian's thoughts reminded him as to why he was going to the hospital to begin with. Blaire didn't look at him like a man terrified, but Sebastian wasn't sure that he could say he wasn't scared enough of himself for them both.

"Seb." Waylon's voice was gentle when he finally managed to get a word in. His eyes were just as soft, promising to try understanding where Blaire wouldn't. Even if the downward turn on his mouth said he shared Blaire's surprise. "Are you...are you sure? It isn't an asylum but...are you sure you want to be in a place like that?"

Without calling it by name, Mount Massive flashed across all their minds. Too deeply imbedded to cut out. Despite Sinclair digging the knife into the wound plenty of times looking for ways to get that place out of him.

Maybe he needed someone else to treat the wound. Someone that didn't all have the same injuries.

"I'm sure." Sebastian replied quietly. "You should at least trust my opinion on this a little bit. I used to be a therapist you know." It was meant to come off as a joke and Sebastian tried to smile, but the reality of that lost life only dragged his mood down further.

It seemed that, with Waylon's support, Blaire had reached the end of his patience. "This is bullshit." he hissed and stormed away from both men that had remained seated.

While Waylon called out after him and got up to follow so he could try and smooth things over before Jeremy could break something else, Sinclair was left alone in the living room.

For a while he just sat there, listening to the argument raging on down the hall without him. Then finally looked down at the mug Blaire had spared by shattering Waylon's. It must have belonged to him so of course he didn't break it when he could break someone else's, the selfish man he was.

Looking at the mug Blaire had left behind in his haste to escape the conversation, Sinclair noticed it was a novelty mug with bold print along its side.

_I am not everyone's cup of tea. _

_But I drink coffee so fuck em'_

Huh.

Whoever had managed to boil Blaire down to his most basic components and print it on a mug was a genius surely.

Sinclair wondered if Blaire would mind terribly if this one went missing...


	4. Committed

"Are you really sure about this?"

That question must have been burning on Riley's tongue for the better half of an hour.

The drive to Lake Sirona was a relatively short one, with all things considered. Sebastian tried not to dwell on just how close it was to the mountain with little success. The hospital had taken advantage of an existing structure by the lake to set up shop with greater ease and yet its position bothered Sinclair relentlessly.

It seemed uncanny that the hospital should spring up no more than a few hours away from the site of Murkoff's first true disaster. From what he knew of the following incidents, this hospital was roughly centred between them. It was likely not intentional and even if it had been a conscious decision, it was not all that surprising if he thought about it rationally. Murkoff's influence stretched across the country, all across the globe in fact.

Lake Sirona could have been set up anywhere and would probably be within throwing distance of one of Murkoff's crimes or another.

Still. Did it have to be right next to the specific tragedy that he was tied to?

Selfish a thought as it was, that exact question had been on repeat in his mind for some time now. Moreover, if it was nagging at him, then surely the conspiracy theorist sat in the backseat was crawling up the walls of his mind by now. Sebastian felt confident in concluding as much just by going off how quiet Miles had been for the majority of the trip.

The reporter had been a strong advocate for this visit initially, although his enthusiasm had taken a sour turn once Sebastian confessed to his true intentions for this trip. This was not the covert inspection that Miles had been geared up for, but rather a self decided admission to the in patient care facility on offer.

It had been awhile since Miles looked at him as if he were truly out of his mind. But that had been the exact stare Sinclair was greeted with when telling both he and his brother that he was firmly decided on the matter.

Riley's resistance was more understated than Miles's was, and it came in the form of questions rather than accusations.

Questions like; _'are you really sure about this?'_

Despite himself, Sebastian answered with a soft, amused sigh and a long suffering look thrown his brother's way.

"Yes, Riley. I am sure." he confirmed, though he would no doubt need to confirm it at least several more times before it began to sink in.

To help that process along, Sebastian added more quietly, "I just think this is what I need."

In the back seat, Miles snorted derisively but averted his eyes when Sebastian sent him a scowl through the rearview mirror. No matter what Miles might have thought, it wasn't up to him.

It wasn't up to anyone besides himself and in a way that was the most comforting thing in the world.

To be the one that chose if he committed himself or not, it was the exact thing that many of Murkoff's victims had been robbed of. It was difficult not to remember exactly how his first brush with being the patient rather than the doctor had panned out. It was difficult to block all sorts of memories from that time. Repression was not the healthiest thing in the world, Sebastian knew that perfectly well, but it was a difficult safe haven to resist.

If he really thought about it, this would likely be a little entertaining. In a morbid, unpleasant kind of way. To be a patient - a proper willing patient - rather than the healer. He had always told his peers that they ought to go to therapy themselves. What a hypocrite he was to never have followed that advice for himself.

Sighing once more to himself with a touch more exhaustion to the sound, Sebastian leant back in his car seat. Eyes sliding shut as a familiar fatigue rolled over him. He could use a full night's sleep again…

But when he laid there quietly, his mind tended to wander to places he didn't want it going. So keeping his eyes shut for long just wasn't easy to do. Even as he sat there in the gently swaying car, Riley's steering made smooth with a small customisation to the wheel to give him an extra grip, Sebastian couldn't really relax.

Had his focus been fixated on the looming hospitalisation it may have been easier to stomach. After all, it was perfectly natural to be concerned about such a thing, to fixate on that alone as Lake Sirona drew ever closer. But no. It never could be so innocently straight forward could it?

Instead, his mind kept dragging itself back to the argument he and Jeremy had over the whole thing. Or rather, just Jeremy himself.

It had been months since he'd last seen the man and as usual, the experience had been a fairly hostile one that Sebastian struggled to navigate. Sometimes knowing Blaire made it harder to talk to him than it had been when Sinclair barely knew him. Now it felt like talking with the man was like navigating through a path filled with landmines that Blaire was all too eager to set off by pushing him onto them.

Only he could take 'I want to get professional help' as a personal affront of some kind.

No matter how adament Blaire might have been that this was either some carefully crafted insult directed at him or simply some supreme idiocy on Sebastian's part, he couldn't go bending to the man's fits whenever he started to throw them. Which was often at that.

According to Waylon Blaire had barely settled in their months apart and despite everything, Sebastian couldn't find it in him to be disappointed by that. It just meant that the bullet had done little to soften the man.

Whereas that same bullet had sent him spiralling off the deep end all over again. Dragging violence to the front of his mind all over again. In the past it was Blaire's form of violence that was far more concerning, as it had the institutional backing that Sinclair's lack. But out here, on their own, Blaire had become the lesser evil. Leaving Sinclair as the other that needed more eyes and hands on him to keep things in check.

Everyone else may have fought him on that front, always insisting that he seemed so friendly. So well adjusted. Wholly unaware of what was going on inside his skull. Sinclair had gotten quite good at pretending that he was under control. But that pretending came with making sure he was kept in self isolation, limiting the chances there were for something to go wrong. It was becoming suffocating and he did not trust himself to keep it up much longer.

Going to Lake Sirona was as much for himself as it was for everyone around him. Just to be safe.

It felt like the only person that stood on his side of this discussion was Lisa. Perhaps it was her distance to Murkoff that allowed her to see the situation more clearly than the others.

To her it was just a hospital like any other, doing what it cold to help undo damage that Murkoff had done onto them. It just so happened that Lisa was also the strongest stance between the lot of them. Blaire kicked up a fuss loudly and Waylon might worry relentlessly, but not one of them held a candle to Lisa's firm reminders that the choice belonged solely to Sebastian and no one else.

She was something of a god send, Sebastian could not in all confidence say he could have stood up to Riley's overwhelming concern and Miles's conspiracy theories on his own.

"Hey." Riley's hushed voice spoke up, tone a low comforting rumble almost lost under the thrum of the car's engine. "Go ahead and get some sleep, Seb." he advised gently and had Sebastian not been edging on sleep already he might have laughed at how obviously Riley had been itching to tell him that. It was no secret that he wasn't sleeping well, his own body gave him away.

The bags under his eyes had become rather prominent, only made worse when his cheeks seemed incapable of getting any colour back into them. He'd always been pale but this was getting a bit ridiculous.

Riley had suggested going to a doctor more than once just to see if he still had blood circulation at all, but up until this point Sebastian had been unable to stomach going to a doctor directly for anything more lengthy than to pick up a prescription and even that was anxiety inducing.

Distantly, his sleep fogged mind wondered what a different old 'doctor' would have prescribed for poor circulation.

Knowing Trager?

Blood letting would be the top of that list.

The morbid amusement faded as, behind his closed eyes, Sebastian's mind slowly built the asylum back up brick by brick. Room by room until he could have been standing back within its walls.

He never had seen Trager during the riots. Even in his mania he knew to steer clear of the doctor's playground, with a healthy respect for the old man's cunning and cruelty.

However, he had seen Trager in passing during the days he spent in the engine program. And so that was where his dozing thoughts took him. Back to the clinical little rooms they'd been pressed into by force where the flesh of his face decayed further with each visit to the engine.

It was there that he had occasionally caught sight of the man that would become Mount Massive Asylum's homegrown doctor. Vaguely he could recall catching odd glimpses of Trager back then. Wondering if he'd end up just as skeletal and warped as the old executive had become.

In the conjured memories of the asylum, Sebastian was sure he could hear Trager as clearly as if he'd been just one room over as he had been back then.

Listening to his shrieking about taxes that Sebastian had not understand when he'd first heard them.

The mad ramblings made sense over time until eventually he'd understood Richard Trager better than he had someone like Waylon Park. The hours he'd spent in the asylum, scissors in hand and the doctor's wild rantings circling in his mind. Had he met with Trager rather than Waylon, who was to say that they wouldn't get along better than they had before Murkoff mutilated them into new people.

Thinking back on it now, he was sure that he must have once understood what Trager meant with ramblings like,_ "You know your day-dreams have to be declared, right? No worried, buddy! I can help you with that, what's a little tax evasion between friends?" _

Of course, Trager had been alone when saying those words.

Locked away in his cell just like the rest of them. Who exactly he thought he was talking to Sebastain couldn't have guessed. After all he'd been busy talking to no one in particular all by himself as well.

He hadn't believed them when he'd been told that his time in Murkoff's engine program had been no longer than two weeks. Fourteen days. That was all it had taken to unmake him and leave him just as murderous and warped as the doctor that had resided mere doors away from his own.

Fourteen days of damage that he'd been yet to repair in three years.

Perhaps Lake Sirona would have better luck saving him than Sebastian had himself thus far.

With the constant shifting and rolling motion of the car, he was unable to truly sleep. Remaining half coherent every step of the way. It was this tie to the waking world that stopped the nightmares from setting in. This half sleep was the most rest he'd gotten in weeks.

A step in the right direction.

And as he dozed in the passenger seat, Sebastian couldn't see the ten thousand odd looks Riley tossed his way. Every single one of them dripping with anxiety and apprehension. Still, he drove all three of them through the hills towards the lake without a word of protest.

It had taken a long time for Riley to be able to drive again. But like most things, he eventually adjusted and managed to find a way to change day to day life to suit his new situation.

When it came to driving, Riley had enlisted Waylon's help to make some changes to the steering wheel. Their efforts resulted in a little handlebar being welded onto one side of the wheel, giving Riley easier control when it came to sharp or long turns.

They were all fairly sure that such a modification was probably illegal in some capacity and needed to get formally manufactured. But Riley wasn't expecting to get pulled over and given a hard time over the homemade modification any time soon.

The hardest part had been gathering the confidence to get behind the wheel for himself again.

Not sure what scared him more, the idea that he could crash and cost him the other arm and a leg in repairs or that he would just humiliate himself and be faced with the reality that he could no longer even drive.

But he could. All it took was a bit of determination, supplied by himself and some ingenuity supplied by Waylon and his idea of the handle. Riley was positive he drove just as competently as he ever had. Certainly well enough to get himself, Miles and his sleeping little brother to this hospital.

Maybe crashing would be less panic inducing than actually arriving at the lake now he thought of it…

"This is bullshit." Miles muttered from the backseat. Probably thinking it was safe to voice his displeasure again now that Sebastian was napping.

Riley took a deep breath and resisted the urge to roll his eyes or agree with Miles. He couldn't give the man any ammunition in this argument. Not that Miles ever needed any encouragement.

"Come on!" Miles pressed. Voice remaining quiet as he hissed his protests. "You know I'm right!"

"Listen, Miles..." Riley began, pleading with his tone alone for the man not to start up again. "This place is supposed to be top of the line. Everything I read-"

"Is probably _also_ bullshit!"

"You were a reporter, I really don't think you can just call everything bullshit."

"It's because I'm a reporter I can say it's bullshit. The whole system is probably fucked by now. It's probably all controlled by some rich bastard in some ivory tower." I was the last honest reporter in the damn world. Now it's all gossip and clickbait. It's bullshit, Riles!

"You spent three years hunting _bigfoot_, Miles."

"Mothman." Miles spat the correction, sounding truly offended by Riley's inability to understand the difference between the two.

It was a discussion that had been kicked up sometime a year ago when Sebastian thought it wise to bring up the effect of mass hysteria in relation to Mothman and Miles had taken it as a personal affront.

To this day Riley couldn't say if Miles truly thought cryptids or whatever they were called, were real things or if he just had the longest running personal gag. If he absolutely had to bet, Riley would have said Miles didn't know himself if he was joking or not anymore.

Granted. He did carry an honest to god monster inside his veins. Riley wasn't sure if Walrider could be called a cryptid but it certainly put their skepticism on the hindfoot.

When Sebastain had told Miles that Mothman was a fairytale and likely just a mass delusion, Miles had retorted by simply summoning Walrider without a word. Resulting in a genuine scowl from Sebastian and a very baffled monster that had been woken up for seemingly no reason while Miles smirked from ear to ear.

"That argument aside." Riley muttered, refusing to get into another never ending debate about the supernatural. "Not everything can be some conspiracy. We have to trust some things or we'll never get any rest."

For a moment there was silence from Miles and Riley thought the discussion was over, until the man muttered under his breath, "We trust ourselves." then quieter still, "...we trust each other."

Despite himself, Riley felt his chest tighten in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. Smiling faintly to himself and he conceded. "Yeah. Then trust Seb."

Even if he didn't entirely trust his brother's judgment all the time. In this case, they had to try and trust in one another to make sure no one fell through the cracks.

It seemed Miles did not have an immediate rebuttal for this and just simmered down with a disgruntled grumble. Riley at least made some attempt to soothe him.

"We'll handle it. We will."

After everything else they'd gone through. This couldn't possibly be any worse.

* * *

Lake Sirona was disarmingly picturesque.

From the moment the lake came into view it became clear that this facility had not only a beautiful location but the work to the building itself was immense. It's upkeep one of many things that set it apart from the decrepit state that Mount Massive Asylum had been in.

The grass around the hospital was green and lush, clearly provided with more care than the surrounding area and even then, the rest of the land was not starved for rainfall. Every shrub and plant was neatly trimmed into shape. Every surface washed down and clean. It was exactly the type of sanitation that would keep Sebastian from losing his mind. He never had been one to tolerate mess.

But the shiny exterior set Miles's teeth on edge.

He was almost wishing the place would be a dump so he could declare it as such and put an end to this whole excursion. But it all looked so perfect and prim. That was decidedly more suspicious Miles decided while Riley remarked under his breath about how expensive the place looked.

No wonder. The money involved with Murkoff's sinking was rather dramatic.

Some people lost every penny and others were generously compensated for the wrongs Murkoff committed. With many of their victims dead that left a lot of money that could be put towards the remaining survivors. This place no doubt had tons of money funneled into it. By the government, investors, sympathetic donators and compensation from the families that had their husbands, wives and children in its care.

There'd be no lack of funding, but Miles knew that commonly money like that wouldn't be spent on the people who needed it. He wasn't convinced that every cent that wasn't put into keeping up the facade wasn't just going into some CEO's pocket.

"Where is the front door?" Riley asked no one in particular. Looking incredibly anxious as he inched the car through the narrow road past the hospital gates. Looking for a big sign that might say '_FRONT DOOR HERE_' for him. Being in a small space like this and trying not to go into unmarked restricted areas must have been playing on his anxiety.

Sitting back in his seat Miles offered minimal help. "Just follow the only road. If there's a split deal with it then."

Surely it couldn't be that hard to find the entrance.

Although, admittedly, Miles didn't see one. Just the rows of neatly trimmed hedges that flanked either side of the car as they crawled down the road. The sound of the tires against the path began to grate on Miles's nerves, wishing it was a regular tar road so the crunching sounds would stop.

"This dirt pathway sucks. Why can't they have a normal road?" Miles complained, looking for anything negative to say about the hospital. Even it's pathways.

"It's crushed white limestone" Riley interjected, getting a quizzical and not at all impressed look from Miles through the rearview mirror. Riley seemed embarrassed but elaborated. "...that's what the pathway is made out of. Limestone. Not dirt."

"Of course _you'd_ know that. Why would anyone just _know_ that?"

Peering out the window at the path Miles frowned at the crushed limestone. Even their pathway was clean looking. Creamy in colour and despite the distinct sound the tires made going over it, still smoother than an actual dirt road. To be frank, they could have paved the place in gold and he still would have found fault with it.

Riley's handyman trivia aside, Miles finally noticed some signage. What stuck out to him first was that the sign included not only the directions to 'general admissions', which would no doubt be their direction, but also an arrow that pointed to the right marked 'children's hospital'.

The Little Lights orphanage sprang to mind and Miles looked down that pathway, only just able to see where the old, refurbished facility ended and the new began. The orphanage had been the latest of Murkoff's ended atrocities and so no doubt all the children had been sent here. It made Miles's skin crawl to think that somewhere down that road was dozens of children suffering from what Murkoff had done.

They did not take that fork in the road. Heading instead to the general admissions.

At least they'd found the entrance. "Now where do we park?" Riley bemoaned, groaning as they drove right on past the general admissions doors.

The entrance had a loop in the road that led right to the front doors, allowing for quick drop offs and pickups, this was no such thing and Riley needed to park. Unwilling to send his baby brother in on his own.

They hadn't seen any cars on the way in but there were plenty parked outside of the hospital. Inside the gates they'd seen no one else thus far. Riley would be happy to walk typically, but given where they were going, every step would be one that risked sending them running the other way. Something that Miles wouldn't protest.

Mercifully, after a little further down the road turned again, around the side of the hospital and they finally spotted more cars. The parking lots were all marked for specific people. General public, to workers, to drop off and short stay, to patient vehicles. Miles noted that of the lots, that final one was the least occupied.

Sebastian wouldn't have the car with him if he were to stay here so the parking lot would not get any fuller with his addition. For now, they parked in the short stay area. It wasn't far from the rest of the hospital and there were very few spots left. Fortunately, they were able to find one and Miles suspected that wouldn't happen regularly. They got lucky.

When the car finally rolled to a halt, with a slight bump. The sensation of the journey coming to an end roused Sebastian somewhat and Riley giving him a little nudge pulled the blond from the rest of his sleep.

Blearily looking around Sebastian sat up in his seat. Wincing and stretching out his long limbs. Cramped despite the size of Riley's jeep. Riley may have been bigger than his brother but he didn't have the problem of those long noodle legs that Sebastian was stuck with.

"We're here?" he asked softly, sounding hesitant for the first time since they'd gotten into the car.

"Yeah." Riley replied quietly, glancing out through the windshield for a moment before venturing to be optimistic. "It's a nice looking place."

The reassurance sounded rather hollow but Riley put the effort in all the same. Giving Seb another little, companionable nudge. "Come on. Let's go."

The act of getting out of the car seemed too easy. Sebastian climbed out, dragging his backpack over one shoulder as he set his feet down on the car park gravel. It just felt as though it should have felt harder just to stand there. Looking over the hospital for himself now.

Part of him thought it was a bit too...luxurious. Granted it was no manor or resort, but where the hospitals he frequented had typically been small, with the notable exception of Mount Massive's horrific figure, this felt almost like someone's private retreat.

He wouldn't be shocked if there was a golf course tucked away somewhere. Maybe that would be enough to convince Blaire to come along one day.

Despite himself, the thought made Sebastian chuckle under his breath.

"Look, if you want to make a runner now, I swear I'll only bring it up once every other christmas dinner." Miles remarked as he joined Sebastian in staring at the hospital. The joke was there but Miles's tone didn't come across as remotely jovial. No doubt he already knew the answer was no.

"It's fine, Miles." Sebastian told him calmly. Sounding far more confident than he truly felt. "I know you love hidden horrors and conspiracies but...well even you have to admit that this looks, _feels_, nothing like Murkoff's hospitals."

They always had been rather creepy places when Murkoff was behind the scenes. Didn't help that Mount Massive had been so derelict and inherently creepy. Even their modern buildings had a certain fridgedness to them. All sharp, uncompromising edges and soul crushing spaces.

Lake Sirona felt open. Lush. The gardens were well maintained and green, even the air out here felt warm.

Sebastian was sure the beauty of it all was putting Miles on a razor's edge.

Finally, Riley rounded the car and joined them. A duffle bag in hand. Sebastian had not brought much with him but when he tried to reach for his things, Riley shrugged him off. Holding the bag out of his reach.

"I got this." he told his brother stiffly.

That one was easy enough to translate. _Let me do this._

He wasn't going to rob his brother of the feeling of being needed right before they were to part ways. Sebastian let it go and let Riley continue to comfort himself by making himself useful. Fortunately, the bag was not particularly heavy. Seb did not have many things he was determined to bring. Just the duffle bag and his backpack.

Riley looked him over, eyes narrowing in on the backpack Sebastian had slung over one shoulder."You know what this reminds me of?" Riley asked as they approached the hospital.

There was a genuine tone of nostalgia to the question that put Seb on edge. Guessing where he was going but not having the heart to stop Riley's reminiscing. "Sending you off to school with your backpack like that."

"Riley…" Seb groused, although his protest was mostly for a show, a faint smile lingering on his lips.

"Your bag was blue back then." Riley recalled distantly and Sebastian was sure that the memory was both pleasant and bitter sweet. "I should have gotten you another blue one…"

"The bag is fine, Riley." Sebastian cut in, reaching out to tap his brother's shoulder. "I'm sure the colour of my backpack won't change what the doctors think of me. This isn't school." At least Sebastian certainly hoped that it was nothing like school. Regardless, Riley didn't look all but comforted and Sebastian did his best to muster up a smile his brother would buy. "Really. It's alright." he insisted gently. "You've already over prepared me here, Riles. You know they're not going to let me take in a packed lunch."

At this Riley let out an irritated huff. If he took issue with the idea that he was still packing his baby brother lunch or that the hypothetical lunch would be rejected by the hospital was anyone's best guess. He'd been dismayed by how little Sebastian brought with him, ignoring that if their roles were reversed Riley would likely had packed even less and what he would have brought would have been confiscated immediately upon arrival.

Sebastian wasn't sure if Riely still packed flint and compases into every bag he took anywhere, but he still had the towels tucked away in the back of the car along with a box of what Seb assumed was canned goods.

Riley gave Miles a hard time for his conspiracy theories but he had the potential to turn into a doomsday prepper himself if left unchecked.

Thinking about it now, Sebastian was a tad more worried about those two being left to their own devices while he was in the hospital. He'd have to ask Waylon to check in on them more frequently just to ensure the house didn't turn into a bunker at some point during Riley's renovations.

Just another anxiety to add to the pile he supposed.

As it was, Sebastian only had the two bags to his person and the backpack slung over his shoulder felt too light to be everything he'd be living with in here.

"They're expecting us?" Riley asked as they crept ever closer to the front doors.

"In theory." Seb replied, nervousness inching into his voice. "I was told just to go to the front desk and sign in."

Miles's piped up, incapable of not interjecting his disapproval into every remark. "What, no red carpet?"

Riley's pace slowed somewhat, falling behind Sebastian as he continued on. Just so he could fall into stride with Miles and whack the man across the back of the head. Little more than a love tap, but Miles still yelped in a manner he would certainly claim was very manly and not at all embarrassing.

"Give it a rest, Miles." Riley hissed under his breath and Sebastian pretended not to hear the following hushed argument as he stepped into the shadow of the hospital entrance.

Standing there now he felt far smaller than he expected he would. Murkoff had done well to break down their sense of self and leave them feeling as significant as ants, but Sebastian had more or less convinced himself that was a feeling he'd overcome. Now, however, he didn't feel much larger than a cowering mouse. At best.

Still, this place wasn't Mount Massive. He could afford a bit more trust to it, he was sure. That trust just...did not come easy.

With a deep breath, Sebastian forced aside that natural fear and stepped fully into the shadow of the hospital. Passing the supporting beams that held the foyer high above him. The front doors slid open welcomingly enough but just beyond the first, main doorway, was a regular old manual door that required Sebastian actually push to open. It was such a small thing but that little quarentein like section between the outside world and the hospital left Sebastian feeling more skittish than before. Just needing to push open the door was a chore and he tried not to dwell on why they had the strange entry way.

Once inside the light changed it's hue. The steady yellow glow from the sun replaced with a clean and clear white light that kept the front desk and foyer illuminated. Sterile down to the very air it felt like. Sebastian comforted himself thinking at least he'd not be overwhelmed with the desire to clean anything if everything remained this spotless. Although it was just a touch unsettling as well.

At the front counter there were two people chatting back and forth. The young man behind the counter had noticeable bags under his eyes and a tired smile slapped on his face while laughing at something the woman opposite him had said. The woman stood on Sebastain's side of the counter and he caught the tail end of their conversation.

"You have to learn to stop working every single shift you can get your hands on." The woman scolded the tired looking man who merely shrugged dismissively. Uttering back something about time and money. Then following up with a little reassurance that he had the weekend off and would get all the rest he needed then.

Seb hesitated, it was hard enough to walk into the building, but to then break into a conversation? It was like every little thing wanted to make this process more difficult for him.

Then, finally, a small silver lining. The woman who had been chatting with the front desk attendant straightened up and looked his way. Following the man's gaze when he spotted Sebastian lingering there and stopped speaking.

Sebastian was taken aback for a moment when he saw the woman's face and just as quickly felt like quite the hypocrite. Being taken off guard by a little bit of scarring when he looked the way that he did.

When she smiled at him, the fern like flow of red scars smiled with her. "Sebastian?" The woman with flora scars called for him and Sinclair jarred back into focus, feeling foolish for having stared.

Sheepishly he approached the pair with a small nod. Not wanting to blatantly look over the red marks that spread across her cheek, dipping into the corner of her mouth and down her throat. Sebastian felt that he should know better than most how to say something about the scars given his own position, but he couldn't find the right words to express his curiosity and perhaps even jealousy.

It looked like she had been touched by the earth itself with the flower scars. It seemed too beautiful, were they scars at all? Sebastian wanted to ask but couldn't find the polite words to do so.

"Yes, I… um, yes that's me." Sebastain confirmed clumsily, hearing RIley and Miles entering through the doors behind him. It felt silly to confirm it was him, with his face it was rather obvious.

She smiled again, more warmly this time and her flower kissed skin moved with her. "I'm Rosa, we spoke on the phone?"

Yet another thing to feel silly about, he did not recognise her voice at all and somehow that felt almost as rude as his staring. "Yes, of course I...ah. It's nice to meet you, Rosa. In person I mean."

Rosa.

She'd used her last name when answering the phone and seeing her now and hearing her first name, well, the irony was not lost on Sebastian. He did well to bite his tongue and keep his thoughts to himself.

"I'm glad you decided to join us, Sebastian." Rosa told him and the warmth in her voice made it seem so genuine. Sebastain couldn't help but relax a little bit when she directed that warmth at him. "Let's get the boring stuff out of the way, hm? Come on, William will help you get signed up then I'll show you around and introduce you to the family."

Rose directed him over to the front desk where the tired man, William, gave him and equally tired but seemingly kind smile and went about collecting a bundle of papers that had been set to the side. Waiting for his arrival no doubt. While he was handed each form and William ran him through the basics, Rosa turned her attention to the two lingering back a few paces. Recognising them as friends and family immediately and approaching the pair.

"And you would be his brother? Riley, wasn't it?" She asked although there was really no need. Sebastian and Riley Sinclair were easy to spot between their physical abnormalities.

Riley, like his brother, seemed rather nervous and uncomfortable. His gaze kept darting away from her and towards the shorter man at his side who, for once, Rosa did not immediately know.

"And you are?"

"Concerned." Miles replied shortly and Riley gave him a sharp nudge and a look that screamed for him to behave.

"Sorry. This is Miles. Friend of the family." Riley explained while rather pointely shutting down Miles's readiness to get into an argument and taking the bag he'd carried in to the front desk for William to inspect while Sebastain thumbed through the paperwork.

Benignly, Rosa smiled. "It's alright. It's a big adjustment, I know that you're probably nervous about all this. We can show you where your brother will be staying while he's with us and give you a bit of a run down on what our day to day is like. If that will help."

Riley relaxed some, letting out a soft breath of relief and nodded readily. Miles was not satisfied, but he had come here with the intention of seeing the place, getting a free tour was good. He'd just prefer to be alone with his camera in this place to find the things they wouldn't show him on the tour.

Of course Riley had questions, nervous, mother hen like questions that Rosa was very used to. Plenty of loved ones that entrusted people to their care had the same questions. Granted, usually they were coming from the parents of the children that were being cared for one building over.

Regardless, Rosa was patient with the nervous family and answered all she could while Sebastian finished up his forms.

Swapping the signed forms for information sheets, Sebastian also handed over the bag he had carried in for William to look through. Checking he hadn't brought anything that wasn't allowed. William seemed relieved when he unzipped the duffle bag and saw nothing but fabric. That made his job an awful lot easier.

"Right, that all looks good. You-... oh." William's eyes paused on Sinclair's white hoodie. It was something of a comfort item rather than clothing he would wear day to day now. Sebastian just wanted to keep it with him.

"Sorry, can you slide the string out of that for me?" he requested with a polite, unassuming smile and Sebastian felt like an idiot.

"Right. Sorry. I knew that…" He mumbled while delicately tugging the pull string out of his hoodie. He had been careful not to wear shoes that had laces, knowing that he wasn't allowed to have any form of string or rope on him, but the hoodie had slipping his mind. It felt a little strange but he understood why he had to leave behind items like that. They could be dangerous to himself and others.

Of course he knew that. He used to be the one working on the other side of that desk.

William did not rush him and instead went through the rest of Sebastian's belongings and found nothing else troubling. Just soft, loose clothing and other soft items. A particular pillow he liked that Riley had gotten him and a blanket he had gotten purely because it was so soft, were the only comfort items he'd brought with him. Knowing that any form of technology was firmly out.

His backpack on the other hand was a bit more interesting. The little backpack was filled with books and Sebastian was sure that Blaire would have scoffed at him for that, but what else could he bring for entertainment?

Among the printed books, none of which were allowed to be wire bound, there was a small personal notebook included. He had not brought any pens or pencils however. Distantly recalling what happened when they'd left Gluskin with a pencil. He was fairly sure he would not be so...violent if given the chance, but he still held off.

"Am I allowed to have any stationary?" Sebastain asked quietly as he set down the pull string on the desk.

William's smile was a little more hesitant this time. "Did you bring any?" he asked, quickly checking the bag again to see if he'd missed something.

"No. I wasn't sure...it wasn't specified in my email. Didn't want to risk it."

The risk was simply having the items confiscated but Sebastian didn't want to kick up a fuss with anything. Just the pull string slip up was still bugging him.

"It's okay, we supply stationery to patients that are allowed to have some. You should be alright to start off with a pencil. But it must stay in your room at all times. You can't bring it out into common areas."

Sebastian idly wondered what category of patient he fell into. Was he considered more of a danger to himself or to others? He was sure if he asked outright he'd be told a delicately worded answer but figured out where they placed him would speak volumes.

If they were going to let him have a pencil then he at the very least couldn't be on the maximum security side of things. He was unsure as to if that was a comfort or not.

Satisfied with Sebastian's belongings meeting their safety standards, William packed everything back up and sat back down to finish writing up Sinclair's admission information. Sebastian would have liked to see what was being written despite knowing it was probably all very mundane. William wasn't going to be writing any personal notes in there.

It was just his paranoia getting the best of him.

"Well," Rosa chirped as she appeared by Sinclair's side again. "Ready to see your room, Sebastian?"

Her smile was infectious and despite his nerves and paranoia, Seb ended up nodding along. Going to pick up his bags only for William to wave him off.

"Don't worry about those. We'll drop them off in your room by the time you're done with the tour."

Uncertainly Sebastian glanced back at Riley and Miles and while the latter was hardly supportive, Riley offered up a little smile and nod, trying to encourage Seb along. Even though they both knew he'd rather his brother just come home with them. Mustering up a smile for Rosa, Sebastian gave a little nod and onwards gesture.

Time to see his new home...


End file.
